All I Want for Christmas
by The Reviews Lounge
Summary: [Reviews Lounge forum collaboration] Several different oneshots, each by a different author, about a canon character and what they want for Christmas. Merry Christmas everyone, and please read and review.
1. Andromeda Black

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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Chapter 1 

**Andromeda Black **_wants_** Ted Tonks.**

Black; just the word itself wasn't a pleasant one – to be devoid of any colour, and so they were; all three of them. Bellatrix, with her wild, unruly hair that fell to her belly in black curls and framed dark brown, almost black eyes and a pale white face. And Narcissa; though the complete opposite with her transparent white skin and white-blonde hair that fell straight, neat as a pin, was still devoid of any colour; including her light gray eyes that saw straight through your lies. And then she came, with her dark brown hair and dark brown eyes – almost no colour, yet still more than her sisters. But still a Black, always a Black.

Because even if you were physically colourful; Blacks never had a colourful personality, so it changed nothing. One rarely saw Narcissa smile, the apathetic ice-queen and one certainly never saw Bellatrix with anything brighter than a smirk. Of course, one could sometimes see her smiling, if one looked, but that was disregarded because she was a Black; no one ever expected her to smile, and so when she did, they were secret, kept for her private moments. Besides, one never really looked anyway.

Sometimes, when he was around, he saw her smile. He _made_ her smile, too, when she stopped to talk to him. But that wasn't often, only when she was alone and he walked by, or when her sisters weren't around. Even he knew that to come to her when her sisters were there was asking for trouble. She came to realize that he was her colour; he was her escape from the gray and white lifestyle that fate had dealt her. His hair was only a shade lighter than hers, but his eyes – a deep, piercing blue – drew her to him like no other.

Not that it – _he_ – mattered. Besides for a few laughs, he was off-limits, a desire that she could not grasp, out of reach. He may have been a Tonks, but she was still a Black, and Blacks had rules, limits – standards. It may have been different, had he been different, had he been _pure_, but he was not. He was simply a Mudblood, _filth_.

But how could filth feel so right when he held her hand, or shared his latest joke?

He made her question her rules, limits and standards. He made her question being a Black. Now, when she looked at Narcissa, sneering at some Hufflepuff first year, she wasn't as distant from it as she'd always been. Now, when she saw Bellatrix smacking someone, her heart ached with every cry the poor student had omitted. He made her question herself.

Once, when she was little, she asked her mother what a _Mudblood_ was; her mother had laughed, saying they were _nothing_, simply there for Pureblood entertainment or when a Pureblood needing something done. And she had accepted that, because that was how Blacks did things; someone higher up on the hierarchy said something, and they accepted it. Narcissa and Bellatrix had always been able to do it, and so had she, up until recently. Up until she met him and he made her question everything. Now, suddenly, her mother's answer wasn't nearly as sufficient. Now, suddenly, she found she couldn't just accept the way Mudbloods were treated.

Being a Black, she decided, was a lonely thing. Of course when you're a Black, you're never _alone_, not with all the _respect_ – she sneers at this word, even till this day – the name garners. But loneliness is a funny thing; you can be lonely in a crowd of people, surrounded by your family, in the midst of a party – you don't get a choice where or when you get to be lonely at. Of course, she'd been able to hold off the loneliness, push that dull ache to the back of her heart, along with her questions (because questions were bad things, and more oft than not, you ended up in trouble when asking too many questions) and her feelings.

It had always been hardest during the holidays, pushing the ache away, because the holidays were when she saw more and more people laughing, hugging, smiling, joking. Christmases at the Black mansion were one and the same – she got up, ate an extravagant meal, opened the presents that she never wanted but always got, and then everyone went about their business as usual. No laughter, no hugging, no smiling and most certainly no jokes. Jokes were for filth, her mother had once said, jokes were for people with nothing better to do with their lives, and she, as a Black, always had something better to do.

She never wanted anything for Christmas, never asked for anything, because she was a good little girl. She was a good little Black. Why bother asking for something when you know you won't get it? Her mother would never buy those orange knee-socks, or that phonogram, or that Muggle rugby poster she was always fascinated with – it never moved, _never_! Why bother wanting something she was not allowed to have? And so, over the years, she had stopped wanting, had just accepted that, as a Black, she was better than presents, and jokes, and hugs.

But accepting had never been her strong point, even before he broke her ability to do even that, and so the loneliness, the want, came back, strong as ever, on the holidays. She learned to stay away from crowd-gathering spots as the holidays drew near – eventually, she'd stop going to the library and simply study in her room. Eventually, even the Great Hall became a wrongful place to go to, and she ate either before or after she knew the crowds would start to file in.

And as she sat there, now only two weeks before Christmas, on the lake, watching one couple skate across the ice, her heart ached, and she was glad that there was only one couple tonight. Footsteps alerted her to the sound of another person, and she calmly said, knowing it was Bellatrix, "No, I won't tell you what Billy Connoly's mother's blood status is."

"Oh, and here I was simply _dying_ to know." Her heart stopped at the sound of the familiar male voice, and she looked up into those eyes she'd come to love so much. Those lips of hers – those traitorous lips – upturned and she blushed; colour, again. She marvelled at the fact that loneliness was a funny thing, because as he sat down, she felt the weight upon her heart ease, the loneliness gone.

Of course, it always happened around him, and she was thankful for it. Now, she didn't mind that the couple skating on the ice could look so happy; now, she didn't mind that, as she thought this, her baby sister Narcissa was probably snogging the face off of someone in her year. None of that mattered, except that he was there, and the weight was not.

She always thought it funny, this odd ability of his. The ability to make her feel better, no matter the situation. It was something she'd always wished she could do alone, so that when the time came for her to leave Hogwarts, she wouldn't be so dependant on him. He was like her drug, her ecstasy, and she couldn't get enough.

And suddenly, just like that, she knew what she wanted. She glanced down at her hand, her fingertips barely grazing his, and she knew that she wanted him. _Dear Merlin_, she mentally whispered, her heart constricting, _all I want for Christmas is Ted Tonks… and those knee-socks_.

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**By CaramelBoost**

**A/N:** Yet another of my Carrie moments. I know that Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa aren't in the same year, but I don't know the exact differences in age or which one came first. And I'm sick again, which means I'm on meds (-sigh- yet again…) so my brain can't concentrate long enough to calculate it up. So here, they aren't all in the same year, but they are at school at the same time... does that make sense? And I don't know where to look and see if Ted is a Muggle_born_ or simply a _Muggle_, straight up. –sigh- so many issues with this oneshot… I, for one, thought it came out way too cheesy. But I don't dislike it enough to change it, and it looks like, for once, I'll have this in on time. Or even a tad early, so that prospect is exciting. Merry Christmas (in advance), everyone!

**Staff A/N: **This is the new Reviews Lounge forum project, where each author will write a different oneshot about a different canon character and what they want for Christmas. We're hoping for a lot of diversity in the responses. So, Merry Christmas everyone, and please review, because all reviews are forwarded to the authors of the chapters.


	2. Bill Weasley

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters and everything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 2**

**Bill Weasley **_wants _**his normal life back**

_To Santa, _

_This year for Christmas, my biggest wish is to keep mummy and daddy, and Charlie and Perce safe from the evil dark wizard. Then, if you have time, I would also like some new socks and a toy broomstick. Thank you very much,_

_Bill Weasley_

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Bill stared down at the ancient note that was now lying beside him on the bed. He had found it while rooting through old boxes in the attic, which his wife Fleur had been nagging him to clean for ages. It had immediately caught his eye, lying there amidst old photos and scrunched up parchment in the last dusty box and now Bill was wishing he had never seen it.

His hand flew up to one of the many scars that plastered his face and he touched it gently, wincing a little. He remembered the day he had obtained those scars, the last moments before he passed out: wishing not to die, wishing for his family and Fleur to be kept safe. Then shortly after, the terrifying thoughts of Fleur dumping him for a better looking, French man (Which of course, did not happen- bless her), or his family rejecting him because he was part werewolf.

He admired Remus, staying so brave and so confident all these years- to be quite honest he didn't know how he coped. Bill still hadn't got used to the stares he now received from strangers as he passed.

With three weeks till Christmas, Bill couldn't be worrying more about his little Brother Ron. Was he safe? Were Harry and Hermione there too? What were they up to? So many questions like these plagued him so much, that he'd often wake up in the night screaming, waking poor Fleur up in the process who would then have to sing him a lullaby in French to calm him down.

Bill loved Fleur's beautiful voice more than anything else in the world. He did admire her, so much, for putting up with someone like him. Especially on Full Moon night, when his scars and his temper were particularly bad, Bill wondered why she didn't run into the night screaming. Instead she would sit with him, rocking him gently back and forth, whispering words of comfort to him.

Bill wished more than anything for his family to be safe from Voldemort. Especially Percy. Bill felt particularly guilty for not being a better older brother to Percy and would tell himself that it was his fault they didn't talk anymore, despite Fred and George's consistent, "He's just a git mate, it's no-one's fault but his."

Staring at the note for this long, gave Bill an idea. Striding across the room, he grabbed an old quill and a bit of parchment from one of the many shelves that covered the attic. Sitting down on an old wooden box, Bill began to write.

_Dear Santa, _

_Hello. Bill Weasley here. I have a few requests this year if you could take some time out of your busy schedule to read them. And it will be "some time" because there's quite a lot. Don't worry, no new socks or broomsticks this year, mate. Just a few wishes for me and my family. _

_First, I wish not to be a human spectacle any more. By that, I mean I don't want anyone to stare. Or if they do stare, I would rather it be for my rugged handsomeness or something like that. _

_Secondly, I wish Fleur will live a long and happy life. She is the person I love more than anything Santa, and she has been so good to me. Please let me give her child soon that is as beautiful as her. Afterthought: also, please don't let her kill me for not tidying the attic properly. _

_Next for my family, and for Remus and Tonks and all the other members of Order of the Phoenix to be kept safe from danger. Please let both Ron and Percy arrive home soon, and don't let Percy be more wealthy than me. _

_I think that's all Santa. However, I'm not saying I wouldn't mind a quick visit from Ron or Percy in the next couple of weeks, just to say hello and have a mince pie that is. You can drop by too if you want, Fleur makes the best Christmas dinner. _

_Thanks Santa,_

_Yours, _

_Bill Weasley_

_(No kisses this year I'm afraid- Fleur might get jealous!) _

Bill finished the letter and crept downstairs and out into the shed. Releasing their owl, Merlin, from the cage Bill hurriedly scrawled _"To Santa" _on the front of the note and tied it to its leg.

Bill carried the bird outside and held his arm up.

"Find Santa," he whispered, before with a flap of wings, it took off into the night sky.

Within a week, the bird had returned, carrying a mince pie and a Christmas card in its talons which only read:

_Look out the window_

Bill crossed the kitchen in two strides, followed by a very confused Fleur, and peered out the window. Striding up the path was a tall red headed young man, shivering from the cold- Bill smiled:His and Santa's' secret- For now, that is.

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**By HaruhiXHikaru**


	3. Marlene McKinnon

**Disclaimer:** **Settings, characters and everything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 3**

**Marlene McKinnon **_wants _**a radio**

"Radio's broken." Sirius's curt voice broke into the December air too abruptly for her liking: they hadn't spoken since before boarding the Hogwarts Express, after all. Marlene shivered—though not only from the cold—and drew her cloak more tightly around her, shutting the kitchen door behind her with a snap.

She nodded, though Sirius wasn't looking. "I've been meaning to fix that for a while, not to mention clean up a bit," she ascertained, her soft voice nearly drowned out by static and half-formed words. "Turns out I'm useful with household spells, though, and I haven't been able to get a hold of Andromeda since before—you know."

He nodded, finally turning his full attention back to her. Marlene's apartment was modest—in a Muggle complex, no less—and thus filled with electrical gadgets, but there was nothing to be ashamed of in front of the man who'd abandoned his family in Muggle-borns' favor. "It's nice," Sirius said with a hint of kindness too foreign to her since he'd left.

But it was gone in a moment, his gray eyes again hardened. "Not really, but thanks," she acknowledged nervously, flipping on the lights. "It's gotten a bit run-down—no doubt because I've been living with Muggles and still have no idea how electricity works—but as long as the plumbing and lights work, you'll get by just fine in here. Are you sure you'll be all right staying here?"

It was no mystery that Sirius did indeed need a place to stay, what with the suspicion that he would be—_targeted_, but considering the nature of their relationship, Marlene knew he'd been hesitant to move in. "It's fine. Awkward but fine," Sirius insisted, running his fingers along the dusty counter. "You've got the safest place around, anyway: like anyone would suspect that a _proper pureblood_ like yourself would live in such a _common_ location."

Marlene scoffed. "Insane, the lot of them," she drawled, and in that instant, they were sixteen and in love again, with no war in between. "I work for the Ministry; word's that I live with my parents up near the Malfoys. They won't suspect a thing. That reminds me—I ought to stop by there today and pick up my mail, they've been keeping it all because owls are regulated in urbanized Muggle cities like this one."

Grinning cheekily at her, Sirius walked the length of the room, only to stretch out lazily on her sofa. "I love your apartment," he said contentedly, voice muffled by cushions.

"Don't drool on the pillows," Marlene reprimanded playfully. "And mind that you keep your voice down; it's especially important here to heed the Statute of Secrecy."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius mumbled, waving the matter of privacy aside. "Like it's any more dangerous than when the entire Order crowded in here for the meeting two weeks ago—"

Marlene laughed and crossed the apartment after him, seating herself in the armchair opposite Sirius. "Well, we did get a good picture out of it. Too bad Fabian couldn't make it, though."

"Gideon's enough trouble to make up for it," Sirius said with mock innocence.

She mumbled back, disgruntled, "You're one to talk. What with pulling Marauder pranks every day of the year back at Hogwarts…" Sirius's barking laughter filled the tiny room, and she found herself smiling alongside him.

Wind cut in through the open window, ruffling the blinds. It was a chilly day out, even for winter, but Marlene welcomed the honesty of the cold. On such a melancholy note, her happiness dimmed, and she rested her chin in her hand. "I miss this," she confided truthfully, too softly for her vibrant personality.

"Me, too," Sirius sighed, rolling over to look at her. His ridiculously unkempt appearance didn't faze her. "God, I hate war."

"Yeah," she murmured with dull eyes and cutthroat emotion. "You grow up coexisting with people who think they know you, go to school and get used to letting it in the open… we're the ones in hiding, and we think we have enough control to kill? It doesn't make sense."

Sirius shook his head, long hair falling in his eyes. "Pureblood supremacy. Bitterness at the state of things. It's been under the surface for ages, just took until now to boil over."

"There's no quality of life anymore," Marlene breathed, her words barely audible. "If you're not living in constant fear of it or out there running from the law, you're leading a double life, indifferent by day and fighting by night… there's no point getting up in the morning if it's to be someone you're not."

"It'll blow over," he said uncertainly. "It'll have to… killing _can't_ satisfy them for this long."

"You're one to talk," Marlene spat, warming to the sheer hatred of things. "It's their addiction; they get some sort of sick pleasure out of it, like _you_ get some sort of sick pleasure out of—"

He interrupted harshly, "I didn't do it for the _fun_ of it, McKinnon, I couldn't—" Sirius's breathing was rapid, his face contorted. Aching moments later, he said heavily, "I'm sorry I hurt you, but I couldn't—be with you—because I'd be proving what the Blacks have always believed in. I couldn't—"

"So you ended a years-long commitment because I'm a pureblood," she said with relish. "That's really just backwards prejudice, isn't it?"

Sirius turned away again. "War ages a person, Marlene. I'm sorry."

"I'll bet you are." She concealed her wand as best as she could in the pocket of her jeans and turned to leave, cloak shrugged off.

"Wait—" Marlene whirled around on her heel at the sound of Sirius's voice, raising an eyebrow. "It's Christmas—what do you want?"

"Another radio," she lied, words rolling off her tongue.

Sirius's groan was obviously one of exasperation. "Marlene, I put all my uncle's money into that apartment, you _know_ that."

If she were to be honest with herself, Marlene wanted a family, an end to the war, a happiness she hadn't felt in what seemed like years. She wanted her life back, and yet: "Then nothing at all."

She closed the door and walked to her death.

_"…That's Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole family." -Alastor Moody_

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**By -EHWIES**


	4. Albus Dumbledore

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 4**

**Albus Dumbledore **_wants _**riddance of guilt**

_However boldly their warm blood was spilt, _

_Their life was shame, their epitaph was guilt; _

_And this they knew and felt, at least the one,_

_The leader of the hand he had undone,_

_Who, born for better things, had madly set_

_His life upon a cast, which linger'd yet."_

_-Anon._

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He gazed at the Mirror of the Erised. His own withered, wrinkled face covered with white hair with the piercing, aquamarine blue eyes, reflected back for a moment. And then it changed. The silver surface rippled for a fraction of a second; it became smooth and solid again (although he didn't know if _had _changed into liquid). The eyes remained the same. Sparkling, laughing blue eyes. And yet, if one observed carefully, he could see the hollowness, the emptiness, the sorrow in them. But only the eyes remained the same.

Her skin was smooth, flawless -- porcelain-like. Her brown curls danced about her pretty face, the shadow of a dimple showing on her cheek. It was almost ghost-like. As if the mirror was just a grey veil between him and her, and all he needed to do was push the cloth and reach her. But there lay the problem. The Mirror, unfortunately, was not a piece of cloth. And so he couldn't reach her; couldn't hold her face, couldn't caress the shadow-of-a-dimple, couldn't kiss her forehead, couldn't tell her, "It's ok, everything's going to be all right." No, unfortunately, he couldn't. All he _could _do was to sit in an abandoned classroom, and gaze at the Mirror of Erised.

Unfortunately for him (how unfortunate that misery and guilt make everything so unfortunate), the laugh on her face faded. It turned into an expression of horror, which lasted for a few seconds. The expression was about to change into that of acceptance, when it froze, so that it looked like she was horrified, confused and resigned at the same time. Which she probably had been. But he wouldn't know -- ever. And like a feather in the winds, the pale frail body of Ariana Dumbledore fell back into the black mist of the Mirror.

Why did he do this to himself? See her death every second – be it in the Mirror or in his mind? And like almost everything in the world, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore knew the answer. Because this guilt, this pain, which felt like a thousand knives stabbing and twisting his heart, was his only redemption.

_"Sir-Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"_

_"Obviously you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however." _

_What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"_

_"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."_

_Harry stared._

_"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People insist on giving me books." _

Only if Harry knew what the great Albus Dumbledore really wanted for Christmas – an answered question, a mind at peace… the riddance of guilt.

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**By koolgirl1993**


	5. Percy Weasley

**A/N: The part in italics, is from OotP, page 444 of the British edition.**

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**Chapter 4**

**Percy Weasley **_wants_** to go home.**

Percy looks at the large squashy parcel on his lap. He knows what it contains. He knows he shouldn't open it. He knows, even as he is ripping open the paper to reveal the contents. He knows, but he does it anyway. He can't help himself.

It's a jumper. Of course it's a jumper. He didn't need to open the parcel to know that. What else would it be? Deep green, soft, probably too short in the arms (his mother never could remember that his arms were longer than the twins') and smelling of home. It is the smell of home that finally gets to him, causes him to break down, to cry into the soft wool of the jumper he knows he cannot keep.

He wants to go home.

Dear God, he wants to go home so badly.

But he can't. Or won't. The difference is academic. Until they admit they are wrong, deluded by Dumbledore's scheming, led astray by the anti-Ministry liars who want people to believe in a danger that isn't there, he cannot go home. He cannot admit that they are right. They aren't. They are wrong. They have to admit it, and apologise. Then he can go home.

He has no illusions that it will happen soon. His parents are adamant that Potter is telling the truth, that You Know Who is back, that they must fight him. Bill is as bad. Percy had hoped he might persuade Bill to change his mind when he came to see him in the summer after the row. But Bill had clearly been hoping to change _his_ mind, and that was not going to happen. Percy did not recall ever seeing his oldest brother as angry as he was on that occasion. Charlie is a lost cause too. Where Bill leads, Charlie follows. No use in even trying to persuade him otherwise. The twins – well, when had there _ever_ been any point in arguing with the twins? And Ron – Percy had had hopes of Ron when he learnt he had been made a prefect and was finally learning to shoulder some responsibility. But Ron, it seems, is still too far under Potter's influence to see how wrong he is. And Ginny – it's as pointless to try to argue with Ginny as it is with Fred and George.

So Percy alone of all his family stands for what is right, what is sensible, what is _authorised_.

So he cannot go home.

He cannot visit his father in St. Mungo's, cannot even ask how he is, in case that is seen as an indication that his stance against his family is weakening. He did not know his father had been injured until he heard the rumours flying around the Ministry the next day. He went to the hospital in his lunch hour, but did not dare to go in and ask in case his family found out. Instead, he lurked in the shadows near the entrance until he saw Bill emerge and walk briskly off down the street. Percy had to rely on the fact that his brother looked relatively cheerful as an indication that their father would be okay. He did not approach him. Bill might be the least likely of all his brothers to punch him if he did so, but Percy knew there would be anger and contempt in Bill's eyes as he answered him, and he could not face that. He left before the rest of the family arrived to visit. He had to get back to work. His job was important.

Now it is Christmas Eve and he is alone in his tiny flat, with a jumper that smells of home. A jumper he cannot keep. He wraps it up again and sends it back. He cannot keep it.

"_Merry Christmas," said George. "Don't go downstairs for a bit."_

"_Why not?" said Ron._

"_Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper."_

"_Without a note," added George. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything."_

In his flat, alone, Percy wonders if there is anything worth getting out of bed for this Christmas Day.

He wants to go home.

Dear God, he wants to go home so badly.

But he can't.

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**By Bad Mum**


	6. Remus Lupin

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 6**

**Remus Lupin **_wants_ **courage**.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Don't you all have lives outside this place?!" yelled Molly Weasley rather exhaustedly as she came in to the dining room at 12 Grimmauld Place. She'd just finished wrapping a few gifts at home and had brought them over here to hide them from the prying eyes of her mischievous younger children (particularly Fred and George). Sitting in the dining room were Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks, with whom Sirius was playing cards, Mundungus Fletcher, who was just…sitting and looking around, and Remus Lupin, who was submerged in an old book he'd found. "It's Christmas Eve! Don't you all have families?! Tonks, I KNOW you do!"

Tonks shook her head. "Mum booted me out for the evening. Said I was getting on her nerves," said Tonks. "Best to wait until later to see if she's cooled down."

Sirius snorted a laugh. Molly raised an eyebrow. "What? I LIVE here!"

"Of all people, I'd have expected YOU to go sneaking around in the street tonight!" Molly scolded. "It's not healthy for young people…"

Remus and Mundungus both coughed sarcastically at the same time.

"…people, to be cooped up in such a small space on a holiday like this."

"Yes, mummy," Sirius said, adding a heavy fake tone of remorse to his voice. Molly let out a puny little groan.

Sirius laid down his hand. "Two pair, sevens over deuces."

Dung didn't say a word, he just sneezed rather forcefully. Molly looked at Remus, who'd amusedly listen to Molly's maternal rant up to this point. "Are you staying here tonight?" She seemed to be a bit gentler towards Remus than towards the other three.

"Yes," was his reply. "The heat in my flat is broken. Can't fix it magically, or else my Muggle landlord will get suspicious again." Molly bent down lower and glanced quickly at Tonks.

"You're waiting for a chance, aren't you? After what happened here a week ago, and don't think I didn't hear about…the way you—"

"—no," replied Remus bluntly.

Molly groaned and stood up straight again. "I swear, if Sirius got a brain, Dung got a heart, and Remus got some courage, maybe we all could be a little more Christmas-like in here!"

Sirius rolled his eyes at Molly. Molly groaned. Tonks glanced quickly at Remus and back down at her hand. She slammed her hand on the table. A pair of aces was all she had. "Fold."

Molly waited another second before speaking again. "Well, I'm going home. Happy Christmas, you four," Molly muttered. "Don't you spend all of tomorrow locked up in here…except for you, Sirius. I'll send Arthur or Bill over with some food, seeing as Remus is the only one around here who seems to know how to cook." Molly glared at Tonks, as if being the only other female in the room automatically was supposed to make her a gourmet chef. No one replied. Dung got up after about five more minutes and left without a word.

Remus could sense the tension in the room, now that it was down to him, Tonks, and Sirius. The clock ticked slowly against the back wall. Soon it would announce the hour: coming on eight PM. It ticked in time with the occasional crackling from the fireplace at the end of the long table. Sirius gave Remus a stern expression, to which he shrugged again. Sirius got up and yawned. "Well, I'm off to bed—"

"—WHY?!" Tonks and Remus caught each other off guard, literally yelling the word at the same time.

Sirius didn't respond, but he patted Tonks on the shoulder. "You'll be alright?"

"I'll get home safely. Let my mum have ten more minutes alone with her fancy Christmas china before I go breaking it again," Tonks assured Sirius. He looked at Remus next.

"You coming up, Moony? Regulus' old room is always made up," he asked. Remus shook his head.

"Not tired just yet. I'll be in the parlor, reading," Remus said, gathering his book and quickly leaving Tonks and Sirius alone. He scooted rather quickly into the small parlor in the next room and looked around for a spot to get cozy. Sirius, instead of going upstairs, followed Remus into the parlor.

"Moony, sometimes I wonder why you were ever a Marauder in the first place," Sirius moaned.

"Excuse me?" Remus asked, sitting on the sofa and opening his book again.

Sirius chuckled. "Of all things on Earth, your biggest fear is of women!"

Remus bit his lower lip and dog-eared his spot on his book so he could focus on his challenger.

"After what you did to Tonks last week, the least you could do is ask for her forgiveness. She was really brave the way she spoke to you like that, you know."

"Leave it alone," Remus insisted sternly.

Sirius groaned and turned to leave the room. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"Don't read too much more of that, mate. Your head might get even bigger than it already is."

Remus shrugged off Sirius' final words and found the place in his book where he'd left off and began to read again. After about an hour, he heard a crack from the kitchen, and he assumed Tonks had gone home. Sighing, he put one leg on the coffee table and lost his place in his book again.

What he'd done to Tonks the previous week had been a terrible thing. It hadn't been just the two of them at Grimmauld Place, but things were quiet enough. Dumbledore had sent for them to assemble at Grimmauld Place to make sure it was sturdy enough for meeting a place because of what was happening at Hogwarts with Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament. It had been a quiet day, so Sirius had broken out and become a dog in order to spy on his godson a little bit out of worry. Tonks was sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea. Remus had joined her. Tonks, in her bravery, had asked a daring question. She asked Remus on a date. A question he'd never heard directed towards him in a long time.

The question was rather abruptly asked, and it took Remus by complete surprise.

Remus wanted to say yes. Why shouldn't he have? Tonks wasn't overly gorgeous, but she was happy and positive, pretty and perky, everything Remus lacked and needed in his life. He nearly did oblige to a date. But instead, he'd thought things through in his head first, as he'd always done. There were so many barriers, so many wrongs in this! She was entirely too young for him, he was a dangerous werewolf, of all things, and even if he wasn't a werewolf and they were the exact same age, Remus was entirely too poor to support her. Tonks' meager income as an Auror was more than he had stowed away in his pathetic little vault at Gringotts. But, instead of explaining all of this, he'd said, "No. I won't date you. Ever."

Only, instead of saying it politely, Remus had nearly barked it out, frustrated by the circumstance. As soon as he'd said it and realized HOW he said it, he regretted it. Tonks, in a rage of both anger and sadness, had left Grimmauld Place in despair and embarrassment (Molly, Sirius, Arthur and Mad-Eye Moody had been present in the room when it happened), and she refused to look Remus in the eye since. Molly was on Tonks' side, as were Sirius and Arthur Weasley.

And it made it even harder to think that all this time, Remus was kind of in love with Tonks too.

It had been that way all his life. Remus had always deprived himself of the things he wanted most in the world because he was too much of a coward to go the distance for them. For example, in his school days, Remus would've killed to be on the Quidditch team as a Beater. But he psyched himself out of going to the tryouts his fifth year, because he had the feeling he wouldn't make it. He'd never gone out on a date with any girl, and by the age of 36, which is what he was, having not gone out on a first date was pretty sad. But, how could any woman love him for who he was: a beast?

He was a chicken. A coward. A fraidy-cat. And he knew it.

Remus looked at the small set of animated pictures on the coffee table near his foot. He picked up one of James Potter, hugging his then fiancée, Lily Evans. Remus smiled, then felt a chill, wondering what his late friend would've have felt about Remus turning down what could have been his best-ever opportunity for happiness. Remus felt a hot tear lace the corner of his eye as he muttered a prayer to himself.

"James, I never ask for anything from you. I never ask any god or goddess or anyone for anything. But I just can't bring myself to get what I want. I'm too afraid. If only I had a little bravery in me…a little courage…a chance to prove myself….then maybe I can strive to be happy, like I was when you were here. You and Lily. Please just give me the courage to right what I have wronged, just this once. I don't think I'll get a chance at happiness like the one Nymphadora gave me. Please…"

Remus knew how dumb and childish he sounded, but it almost made him feel better.

Almost. Because praying for courage, especially now, at this most random of times, was like whipping out a quill and parchment and asking Santa for it. Remus knew that courage didn't come in a Christmas stocking. He could be such a baby at heart sometimes…but he didn't let this stop his mouth from mumbling. James' face could overpower so much…

"I want to be brave like you were. I…I want a chance to tell Tonks that I didn't mean to hurt her so horribly…"

Suddenly, before Remus could speak more, another crack echoed through the air. Remus, startled, got up and got out his wand, in case someone unwanted had Apparated in. He wandered back into the dining room, where he found Tonks sitting by the fireplace, where a roaring fire emphasized the shadows on her face. Her face was blank, and she still wore her electric blue scarf tied around her neck.

Remus felt his heart beat against his chest. Was this his chance at being courageous? Had James…actually…_heard _him?

"Nympha—Tonks?" Remus asked, remembering not to call Tonks by her first name (no matter how beautiful and poetic HE thought it was).

Tonks didn't turn around. "My mum's having a Christmas party with all of Dad's crazy drunkard Muggle friends. I'm staying the night here. Won't get any sleep otherwise. I'll take the sofa in the parlor. Sirius won't mind." Her sentences were short, blunt, and emotionless.

Tonks certainly sounded cold., but nevertheless, she turned around and looked Remus in the eye for the first time in a full week.

"Did you need something?" Remus bit his lip. Did he have his wish of bravery granted? Remus felt something rise in his throat. This was it…his big moment of courage!

"H…Happy Christmas, Tonks."

Damnit. Maybe he hadn't gotten his wish of bravery after all. Maybe it really was just his imagination. Happy Christmas, indeed. Remus was just as chicken as ever. Maybe he'd never get the nerve, after all.

But Tonks didn't wince, or roll her eyes, or turn away. She smiled and patted on the seat beside her, obviously inviting her to take the seat next to her.

Remus' shoulders relaxed. Then again…

* * *

**By Sweet Sadie**


	7. Lily Potter the Second

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 7**

**Lily Potter the Second **_wants_** a sister.**

"Well, Lils, it's December already. What'd you say you wanted for Christmas?"

"To go to Hogwarts, a million racing brooms, and a baby sister." A little girl sits on her bed with her father next to her.

"Oh Lily, you know Mum and I can't buy you those things. James barely started at Hogwarts, so you have a few years left!"

"What about racing brooms? Mum had tons of them in her closet. I found them! Can't you give me a few?" Her voice begins to sound whiny, and she knows it, but she doesn't seem to care.

"Lily, you're only six! The Ministry would _kill _us if you started riding around on a broomstick all over the place. It's a new precaution, sweetie. They don't let little girls like you fly on brooms way up were its hard to see what you are doing. I'm sorry." He shakes his head at her and grins at her pout.

"But, Daddy!" Her eyes get wide a fill with tears.

"No, not the puppy dog eyes, Lily!" He shudders and turns away a bit, making her smile in spite of herself.

"Well, that still leaves a baby sister! Couldn't you buy me one? _Please?_"

"Getting a baby is a complicated process. It takes months, honey, for you to get a baby. No where _near_ in time for Christmas!" He blushes, wondering if he'd have to have any uncomfortable conversations ten years too early.

"But—"

He cuts her off gently. "Maybe. Lily, what do you want for Christmas that's material?"

"That's _what?_" She furrows her brow in confusion.

"Something we can buy at the store. Like a dolly."

"Hmm…A lot of Bertie Bots Every Flavored Beans, of course." She grins devilishly.

"Come on, let's go to the kitchen. Daddy wants to write all this down." He picks her up and sets her on his shoulders.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Gin?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Lily wants a baby for Christmas."

"Oh, really. And?"

"Well, I sort of told her _maybe_ …" The same man stands sheepishly next to his wife, who is lying in bed.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry! How is that going to happen?" She jumps up, laughter in her eyes but anger on her face.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I just—"

"Lost your head? Why in Merlin's name would you look at her when she really wants something? You are so soft!" She sounds stern, but she is smiling.

"Hey, it's not my fault, she inherited your smile!"

"Smooth, baby, smooth."

He laughs and kisses her. "So, what'll we do?"

"Borrow a baby?"

"You are getting more ridiculous the older you get, sweetie."

"Is that an insult?"

"Perhaps," he teases. "No, it is an endearing quality of yours which I fell in love with."

"Ugh, Harry." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "But you _did_ say maybe, right?"

"You can't break the kid's _heart,_ Ginny!"

"Sucker."

"And proud of it."

"Fine. But how do we get a baby daughter in the first place? I mean, I'm not pregnant, and definitely not going to get pregnant in time for Christmas."

"How should I know?"

"You know, I lived with a ton more brothers than she did, and look at me now!"

"You are crazy and a boy at heart."

"How rude."

"One of my better graces."

"Oh, shut it, you git," she slaps his leg lightly.

"So, how do we—"

"We forget about it. For now." She begins kissing him, and his protesting look melts away, much to her satisfaction.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"How is my baby sister coming along?"

"Lily, honey, Daddy—" Ginny begins, smiling encouragingly at her husband.

"Wants to speak to James now, bye!"

He breezes from the room with a salute, earning a giggle from his daughter and a glare from his wife.

"Okay, then, Mummy needs to talk to Lily. Here, sit on my lap. I'm sorry, Lils, but I'm not having a baby. You aren't getting a baby sister."

Lily's eyes fill with tears. "But I want one!"

"I'm sorry, but we can't get you one."

"Buy me one."

"I'm sorry, Lily, no baby for you."

She runs, sobbing, from the room, shouting, "Daddy!"

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"What did you tell her, now?"

"No."

"Yeah, right."

Ginny is sitting in a chair near the fire, reading. Though conversing with her husband, she is mostly ignoring him, and doesn't look up from her book.

"I told her I'd get her a baby." Harry muttered, looking at his hands. Would his plan work on his wife?

"Oh yeah?"

"I have a plan."

"Tell me. It better be good, or you get the couch tonight."

She looks up, and her body is rigid, her voice a tad frosty, but she has a faint smile on her lips.

"Right-O, Captain." He salutes and tells her everything.

That night, he slept in the bed.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"It's Christmas, it's Christmas!" Red headed Lily appears in her brothers' room at five-thirty. James is already awake.

"Yes, Flower Power, it is!"

"Ja-ames! Don't call me that."

A groggy Albus Severus sits up on one elbow. "Hey, Lily. Come here." He grabs her and gives her a hug. She smiles.

"And though it may be Christmas, it is also five-thirty AM," he whispers gently. "So go back to bed."

She and James both sigh and droop visibly. Albus, sweet and mild-mannered that his is, is rather the leader of the siblings, though James tries not to show it. He _is _the oldest, after all, and even though he isn't quite the leader, he still holds power. Maybe too much power.

"Oh, fine, you two, sort the presents. We all know you love to!"

"Only if you come, too, Al." Lily tugs on his hand, and he stands up.

"But I get to sleep!" he warns, smiling.

The six, eight, and eleven year olds tip-toe down the stairs quietly.

Albus lies on the couch and watches the activity around him. James is grabbing his presents and mounting them in a growing pile. Lily is watching his progress with saucer-shaped eyes. Finally, she grabs Albus's presents and balances them.

"What about yours, Flower Power?" asked James. He earns himself a glare.

"Don't _call_ me that!" she shouts angrily. "And anyway, Al goes first. He's bigger than me."

"And older," muttered James, but he didn't want to set the girl off by disagreeing (she was prone to start a tantrum when wrong), so he smiled.

Both brothers doted on the girl, so they did what she did for most of the next four hours. Growing tired, Lily finally drops off to sleep.

"Nighty-night, mate," Albus whispers to his brother. Shutting off the lights, the three are all soon peacefully asleep.

At nine forty-five, exactly fifteen minutes after the siblings fell asleep, Ginny and Harry walk down the stairs. Ginny purses her lips and shakes her head. "They must've been up early," she whispers, indicating the presents stacked haphazardly near James. Soon, though, she is smiling and cooking a scrumptious brunch for the small family. Harry sneaks over to his daughter, seizes her, and begins tickling her mercilessly until she wakes, laughing and gasping for him to stop.

As soon as she wakes, the older boys do, too. "Mmm, that smells wonderful, Mum!" calls James, sniffing the air.

"Can we open presents, now?" Lily begs, her lower lip sticking out.

"After brunch, dearest."

"Fine, Daddy," Lily gives an audible, pouty sigh.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Brunch came and went, with lots of "Yum, Mum, how'd you make this?" and exclamations of what each child wanted most.

"I want my baby sister, NOW!"

"Darling, what do you want her to look like? Her hair color, I mean."

Ginny earns a quizzical look from her sons, who know better than to think their Mum is having a baby.

"Hm. Blonde. Like Auntie Fleur's."

"That may be difficult to pull off…" mutters Harry. He, too, gets questioned by his eldest's eyes.

Before everyone is done, Harry excuses himself. "Things to do, last minute," he explains. Ginny smiles warmly. 'Plan in action!' she thinks happily. Flashing her husband an enthusiastic wink, she tells the children one of her Mum's old faerie tales to keep them entertained.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

No more than ten minutes later, Harry comes back, holding a box.

"Lils, open this _last_," he instructs, grinning.

"It's my baby sister, right?"

"You'll see," he says mysteriously, flashing his wife a secretive smile. "James first."

They go in age order. Pretty soon, James has a few large presents, ranging from a broomstick ("You're a first year, so it's for next year," Harry explains.) to a bewitched radio that plays only Christmas songs.

Albus has a few small presents, like new robes (that can switch from formal to regular any time he wants) and an Ancient Runes book, something Al is fascinated with. Though he isn't at Hogwarts yet, he is what Uncle Ron categorized as 'an over-achiever'. When James had come from school with loads of stories and told them about Ancient Runes, Albus already _loved_ the idea, and begged for a book on it.

Lily has dozens of little presents. A doll lies next to her and she is passing around her first box of Every Flavored Beans.

Enough wrapping paper to line the whole house lays around the three of them, and they are laughing and cheering over what they have gotten.

Lily seems to remember something, and shouts, "My sister!"

With an inward sigh, due to nerves, Harry grasps what appears to be a huge wooden crate with holes in it. Previously it had been sitting next to Harry, occasionally jabbing him in the back.

Lily shrieks in excitement. Ripping the top from the box, she gasps loudly. Her new baby sister has long silvery blonde hair (it doesn't seem to be the natural hair color, but Lily doesn't notice), and big brown eyes. She is very small.

"Oh, she's _adorable!_ What'll we name her?"

"She's yours to name, Lils."

"Then her name is…Madden. What a beautiful name! And no, James, that is _not_ a boy name. It's both. I know because I was reading Grandma Molly's Baby Name Book."

"Did you know that Madden means 'little dog'?" asks Ginny, who had coincidentally also read the book.

"It's perfect!"

"What d'you say, Lily?" asks James, beating everyone else to the chase.

"Thanks, Mum and Daddy. This is the best present ever."

"I'm so glad you like it," says Harry sincerely. His rigid back has relaxed, and the worry in his eyes is gone. His daughter likes it!

"I'm sure a puppy wasn't what you had in mind, right, Lils?" Ginny asks with a smile. She, too, is relieved. They _didn't_ need a baby girl. She was just glad something else took the place of it.

Lily shakes her head, but looks adoringly at the small addition to the family.

* * *

**By Mustardgirl1128**

**A/N: **WOAH A DOG!! Right? Or was I really obvious? Was it really stupid? Actually, I already know the answer to the last one. Oh, well, at least I got it done…review please; I want to know your reaction. And thanks SOOOO much to Time Vortex, who supplied both a pick-me-up and a critical editor's eye.


	8. Blaise Zabini

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 8**

**Blaise Zabini **_wants_** her.**

* * *

He wants her.

He does not care for books or broomsticks, he just wants her.

Perhaps it is because she's the only thing that cannot be bought.

Or perhaps it's because he's never had a "her" before.

Either way, he wants her. And he wants her badly.

It's the way she flounces around the castle in her knitted jumpers, handing  
out handmade Christmas cards as she does so.

(He sleeps with his on his pillow, and has to get up early and wash his hair  
to prevent everyone from laughing at the red glitter that's always there the  
next morning.)

And it's the way she frowns when he doesn't listen to her.

(He's always too busy staring.)

And the fact that she always smells of mint chewing gum and Muggle shampoo  
doesn't help him either.

(He took some of her shampoo and rubbed it on his finger once, and everyone  
gave him looks of disbelief when he spent the day with his index up his left  
nostril.)

She's so wrong, the Mudblood Hufflepuff, but he doesn't care.

And as their lips meet under white berries, comprehension suddenly dawns upon  
him.

(He's in love.)

* * *

**By Heart4Happiness.**


	9. James Potter the Second

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 9**

**James Potter the Second **_wants_** a new name.**

James sat under a tree, scowling into the blank, white landscape. His breath came out in small puffs dissolving into the cold air moments later. The weather greatly reflected his mood; a threatening storm cloud, almost ready to burst.

_I hate it, _he thought angrily as he stood up, brushing snow of his robes.

"I HATE IT!" he yelled in frustration, his fist colliding with the tree. The skin scraped painfully off his knuckles.

"What'd you hate? The tree?" a familiar voice said behind him.

He scowled at the intruder. Teddy Lupin sat down and pulled James down next to him unperturbed by the fierceness of the young boy's glare. His hair was a festive green, indicating the closeness to Christmas.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Don't wanna."

Eleven-year-old James had always idolised Teddy. His admiration had only grown once he'd come to Hogwarts. Teddy, a seventh year always had time for his young friend and James had often confided in him, whether he had wanted to or not.

_Not this time. He wouldn't understand._

"That's fine. What do you want to talk about?" Teddy smiled at him, James looked away grumpily. He shrugged. Teddy seemed content with that and for some time they sat in silence, side by side. James bit his lip determinedly; Teddy wasn't going to get this one out of him. The silence began to press against him; he struggled with it, silently begging Teddy to speak, to end the silence.

"My name,_" _James gave in. "I hate my name."

"Well did you ask Santa for a new one?" James scowled as Teddy's smiling face became serious. "Because it isn't yours?" he asked kindly.

James stared up at him, his hazel eyes wide with surprise. "How'd you know?"

Teddy winked, "it's a secret." Hazel eyes narrowed. "You're not the only one to of felt that James. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Sometimes I think I hate them too."

"Your parents?"

James nodded, "and everyone really." He sighed. "I just want a normal Christmas for once." Tears threatened to appear, he blinked rapidly and let out a mournful sniff. Teddy patted his back.

"I don't really hate them," James explained carefully, "I just hate being a Potter."

"Is that why you stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas?"

"Yeah, so I could be someone else. Have a different name for once…but everyone here knows. They know my name…_his _name." The last part was spat bitterly, "_James Potter._"

"You don't think much of him do you?"

"No that's not...it's just…he was so great. He had everything; he was a Maurauder, Quiddich Captain, Head Boy…He fought against Voldemort. He _died _to save Dad and Grandma Potter. He was really smart and everything. They both were. And Dad. He's _the _Harry Potter, the Chosen One or whatever they used to call him.

"People expect me to be like them. Like all of them. McGonagall actually came and talked to me about my schoolwork, to see if there was a problem…she was so disappointed that I'm not smart like them…I can't be all of them Ted. But they expect me to. The Maurauders, Grandma Potter, Dad, all of them. And when I'm not it's always 'so you take after the Weasley side.' Then there are even more people to live up to. There's nothing left for just me to be. And that's what I am. Nothing."

There were tears trickling down his cheeks, he made no attempt to wipe them away.

"I don't want to be me anymore."

There was silence as Teddy rocked him gently, like he had when James was tiny and had fallen off his toy broomstick or had a run in with Crookshanks.

"Everyone has people to live up to, Kid. Look at me: Orphan of War Heroes. People expect a lot of me. My father was a Maurauder too, remember. It's pretty obvious which parts of me are my mum and which parts are my dad." He smiled ruefully tugging on his now sandy brown locks, "It took some time but I'm proud of those parts of me now. Even the werewolf part. You're not nothing. You're James. My little brother who people think is amazing. Not because of who your family is or what they did. Not because of your name but for who you are."

James sighed. "You really think so?"

"Yeah, I do. James you're a great kid. You're fantastic at Quiddich…"

James rolled his eyes, "so were heaps of people in my family."

"Then be grateful they gave you good genes that let you be great at something you love… and don't try and tell me you don't love Quiddich because I know you do." It had begun to snow gently.

"We should get inside," Teddy said looking up at the sky, which was threatening to break. They made their way back to the castle, Teddy continued his talk. "You're expected to be them. So what? It's mostly because people see qualities in you that they saw in your parents, or grandparents."

"Or Aunts or Uncles, or Cousins…" James muttered, but he was half smiling.

"Exactly, show them you are like your family. There is nothing wrong with that. But remember you are your own person. And you can be different if you want." They parted in the Great Hall. As Teddy turned toward the library he called over his shoulder, "You're more like your family than you think James."

"Yeah right." James muttered as he headed for the kitchens. He was starving. Along the way he decided maybe he didn't need a new name after all…maybe he could get the latest Firebolt instead.

* * *

**By ****Princess Gillybean****‏**


	10. Sirius Black

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 10**

**Sirius Black **_wants _**a new pair of socks**

Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

Yes, the snow fell in spirals around the lamp posts giving the street the 'winter wonderland' look of a holiday postcard. The spirit of the season clung to the houses in each Christmas light and every cheesy lawn decoration. And yes, for most, the night held every ounce of the usual magic that Christmas was supposed to.

_"Deck the halls with... something and ... Molly, fa la la la la, ba ra ra ra..." James belted out._

_"Would you shut up already?"_

_"Why should I? Come on Pads, get into the Christmas spirit." James prodded Sirius' shoulder irritatingly._

_"Look, it's December 1st for Merlin's sake...I won't stop you from singing once it's closer to Christmas okay?"_

_"I will," Remus interjected. "Unless you start getting the words right. I'm pretty sure it boughs of holly..."_

_James laughed. "Same difference. They both end in 'olly'."_

Through a tightly closed and frosted over window Christmas carols carried through the evening air. Songs of kings and snowmen and reindeer, belted out as loudly and boisterously as possible, resulting in the fact that the extent to which they were tone deaf was very apparent. All the same, the little family of just four cherished every word.

And yet, Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

Beside the couch where they sat was a tall tree, decorated so thoroughly that the green was barely distinguishable under the cover of silver and gold and red. Popcorn strings and tinsel hung from every branch, partially obscuring the bright white lights that lit up the room and made patterns on the walls. On each branch, every little twig, there was a shining bauble that as it turned slightly caught the light. Every so often there was an unmatching ornament thrown on, a home craft or a special gift, each one with its own story. On top glistened an angel, glass, or perhaps plastic pretending to be glass, and trimmed with gold. It was a perfect angel, watching over a perfect night and a perfect family.

Indeed, a seemingly perfect holiday.

Still, Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

_"Wow, good haul this year, hey Pads?"_

_"Yeah... great..." Sirius said distractedly. He hadn't yet opened one, he was still futilely looking for one in particular. But he did not see anything marked as having come from Grimaldi Place. He had not really expected anything, but he still felt the small spark of hope that had risen in his chest die._

_"You okay mate?" James asked, though he didn't look away from the new Quidditch gloves he was unwrapping._

_"Yeah," Sirius said, pulling his face into a convincing grin._

_"Well, get a move on then, open mine first, I think I might have really outdone myself this year, and that's saying something since I cleaned out my bank account last Christmas..."_

Underneath the glorious angel, the tinsel, the lowest branches of the tree, unopened gifts lay stacked one on top of another: large boxes wrapped in gold and silver paper, small boxes wrapped sloppily in colored construction paper with a small "To Mommy" scribbled on them. It was to be expected that they would be filled with toys for the kids, trucks and balls and frisbees. Among these would be the smartly wrapped tacky ties and useless holiday napkin rings that would ceremoniously join last years batch.

Tacky or otherwise, it was the thought that counted right?

Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

A large, welcoming looking fire danced merrily in the grate, stoked every so often by the father, cheered on by his children. It filled the room with the unexplainably soothing smell of firewood and a warm orange-ish glow. It was a shame that the warmth brought on by the fire couldn't reach out into the cold that filled the snowglobe-like street.

Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

_Sirius and James hurried into the room, laughing and soaking wet, a sure sign of a successful snowball fight. James made a movement to toss something at Sirius before he realized the snowball he had been running with had melted. Sirius stuck his tongue out and took a seat by the fire. "Come on Jamesy... better warm up..."_

_He tugged James' sleeve until he was sitting beside him. "You'll never dry like that... get closer..."_

_The edge of his robes ignited quickly and he stood up faster than anyone had expected, considering he was usually too lazy to lift a pen in class. He danced around the room, swatting at the flames while Sirius howled with laughter, rolling on the floor and clutching his gut. _

_"It's too bad you weren't a wizard, then you could put that out with your wand," he joked, as James skipped around the common room, his eyes wide, though obviously enjoying the attention and giggles he was receiving from the younger girls in the room._

Sirius shifted unnecessarily in the snow - moving around made no difference in his temperature. He watched the family inside the little house, now unwrapping their gifts happily, laughing and singing by the fire.

It was Christmas like he never remembered it at home, and had that close-knit family warmth that he couldn't have achieved at Hogwarts.His eyes filled with longing, his ears drooped and he involuntarily gave a small yelp.

The mother got up from her seat on the couch and looked out at the shaggy black dog sitting on her lawn. She waved her arms, and he could faintly hear her saying, "Shoo, shoo."

He shook his head and stood up, shaking the snow off his fur as he rose. One last look at the woman and he turned around. He left her yard only reluctantly.

It has been so nice to watch them, to relish in the few memories he had of happy Christmas's at Hogwarts, where he too had had presents and a tree and a warm fire to huddle beside.

He found that the things he missed most, aside from his friends, were the little things like turkey, crackers and telling your best friend what you wanted for Christmas only to have them get you something totally different, yet undoubtedly better. For a week he had had a tiny spark of hope in the back of his mind that someone would reach him, send him the usual 'what do you want for Christmas?' letter, and that he would reply with the only thing he could think of and something he had taken very much for granted until it was beyond his reach.

But of course, nothing of that sort ever happened.

He left the lawn and padded up the softly lit street, the snow dancing around him almost mockingly.

Christmas time had never felt so lonely.

And to think, all he had really wanted was a new pair of socks.

* * *

**By touchtheskyx**


	11. Lily Evans

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 11**

**Lily Evans **_wants _**strength**

I can't taste summer anymore: the last bit of warm air left a few weeks ago. Instead, a cold breeze caresses my skin now and then. It's soothing, really, but it's the announcement of change. I can feel change coming, in the air, in James, in me. Autumn's here, and it's everywhere. As I gaze out the window of the nursery, contemplating the golden leaves that currently crown the trees, I can only smile weakly as I remember James's earlier question. He really is irrepressible, thinking about Christmas already. I wonder how he can think about Christmas in times like these. Besides, it's still so far away – October is barely beginning.

Truth is that, for me, Christmas is much more than a couple of months away. It's as far away as the last time I can remember sitting beside a Christmas tree worrying about nothing more than the presents that waited to be opened. I can still smell mum's Christmas pudding, I can hear dad singing from the roof as he tried to get the Christmas lights fixed properly, making his best effort to get them to look like the picture on the box. I can remember my _other_ type of Christmas as well: I can feel the warmth of the chimney, hear the cheerful chatting of the people in the common room, smell the butterbeer, and see the dangerous mistletoes hanging in every unexpected corner.

But nothing will ever top last year's Christmas. It was the best of my life. James insisted on decorating every inch of the house – the place looked more like the house of Christmas horror, but he was convinced that Harry would like it. He wanted to encourage Christmas spirit in his first son as early as possible. I couldn't stop him from making a mess of the house; then again, I didn't put up much resistance anyway. Of course it wasn't really necessary, I'm sure Harry would have sensed our spirit without the decorations. We had never been so happy. We innocently forgot about everything that surrounded us, and embraced our first Christmas as a family. It was perfect.

I've always welcomed Christmas, and that spirit was a part of me: but not anymore. Christmas is too far away from me. And now I find myself admiring James's full spirit, his ability to wear a bright smile as he starts to plan our next holiday season. I could swear I saw him in the attic last week, searching for the Christmas decorations.

I suppose James has the privilege of being innocent sometimes. Unlike me, he can forget about the wrongness of the world, the war that surrounds us and even the fact we're being hunted down. He can push that away for a moment, put his arms around my waist, smile, kiss my cheek, and whisper softly to my ear:

"_What do you want for Christmas this year?"_

With a vague smile I point out his silly behavior.

"_James, it's barely October! Christmas is still far away."_

That's all I dared to say.

But I haven't been able to get the question out of my head since then, and now I rest my face against the window frame thinking about what I could possibly want from him that he hasn't given me already. The cold breeze brushes me again, taking a few of my thoughts with it. I think, and think, and think. But my own rambling can only bring me to the same place. I know what I want. But he can't give me that, not James. I suppose that the only thing I want for Christmas this year is the one thing I have to find in myself. Still, I wish I could just be given it. I wish I could take a tiny bit of the amazing strength he carries and keep it for myself. He says I'm the strong one, but I know I'm not. He's the one strong enough to bring us Christmas despite the darkness that's hunting us down. But I know why he does it. That strength he carries is all for us; for Harry; for me.

I wish I could find strength inside a box wrapped with perfect red paper, decorated with a golden bow and addressed just to me. I wish I could find it underneath a perfect Christmas tree, just like I found my first porcelain doll.

But it won't come that way. It won't be wrapped or addressed to me. And yet, that's all I want – that's all I need.

I really do need it. I know I'll need a lot of strength for next year, since I'm running out of it. I need a bit for every morning, to open my eyes, smile and kiss the amazing man sleeping next to me. I need a bit for each night, so I can go to sleep in peace. I need some strength to remind myself that everything is fine; that we are going to be fine; that Harry is going to be fine.

We are protected, and I know I shouldn't be so worried. And yet there's the change, the departure of summer, the arrival of autumn, the leaves that will soon be falling, and the wind that will increase its visit. Yes, it's the wind; it's the change. That's what is taking my strength, what is leaving me defenseless with only my fears to comfort me. And I need my strength now more than ever because change scares me, change warns me that I should be more careful, more awake.

I know that in times like these I need strength to forget about the surroundings and concentrate only in our great share of happiness. I learned that from James.

I know I'll need strength for him, and for Harry.

I close my eyes trying to breathe in everything that I'm finding so threatening, so frightening. I used to love it each time the seasons changed. But now… now it's different.

I open my eyes again, noticing the small, familiar sounds that come from the crib behind me. Harry is awake. I approach him and find him struggling with the blanket. I smile. He, like James, knows how to steal a smile away from me. His little hands are reaching for me, and I can't help but lift him immediately. I'm so weak, weak for James and for Harry. Both of them know how to steal my heart in a second.

And then, as I carry Harry in my arms, feeling his small fist close tightly around my finger, sensing his heartbeat, I notice that he's looking straight into my eyes. As if he knew. And it's only then that I remember where I can always find what I need: it's all there, in his emeralds.

Contrary to what everybody else thinks, I don't see myself reflected in his eyes. I see other things, and I might be able to see what nobody else sees. I know him – I know my son. I know it all from the way he looks at me, from the way he looks at James, even from the way he stares so intently at Sirius. I've never seen a baby with more expressive eyes. I know, maybe it's all inside my head, but it's still amazing.

He's so small, and yet so huge. He's not enticed by fear, he's not threatened by worries. He doesn't put boundaries around himself and he doesn't suppress his thirst for discovery. Yes, I can see all that, I know I can. It's all in his eyes; all the strength I need; all the strength that James has. It's all Harry's, and that soothes me. I know I can find it when I look at him, and I know it will always be there. And that's what will let me welcome change, accept change, maybe even celebrate it again. That's what will let me welcome autumn – cold, steady autumn.

Suddenly, Christmas is not so far away, it's only two months from now. Suddenly I don't feel so lost. Suddenly, I can live through autumn just to get to Christmas again. Suddenly I know the taste of Christmas pudding and the smell of Butterbeer again. Suddenly I can't wait for December to come. After all, it will be Harry's second Christmas. It's bound to be perfect.

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**By Kmovie**


	12. Ginny Weasley

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. ****The song lyrics are from "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanassieff, and in no way shall the author or The Reviews Lounge attempt to take credit for them.**

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** Chapter 12**

**Ginny Weasley**_ wants _**fewer brothers**

**1 vs. 6**

I stare down at the hideous item in my hand. A dark green jumper with a yellow "G" stitched on the front. Its not like I'm not used to Mums Christmas jumpers but it would be nice not to get George's old ones (Which are miles too big) once in a while. My names Ginny. I'm the youngest of the 7 Weasley children and the only girl. I am 8 years old and I hate my brothers! Except I don't really hate them (well most of them) I love them, but its very annoying that I hardly ever get anything new or girly for that matter! My oldest brother Bill is 18 and is about to leave home I am going to miss him but it will be one less boy in the house! I'm sick of the comments from relatives it's always "Hi boys, Hi Ginny!" You probably think I'm over reacting! I'm not.

People call me 'sweet' and 'innocent' but people who really know me know I'm anything but. They only call me that because I'm a girl but you try staying sweet and innocent when you have to protect yourself from 6 older brothers.

Bill: One of my favourite brothers. But too overprotective of me.

Charlie: A great person to be around. But he snores.

Percy: Nice. But too bossy.

Fred and George: Hilarious. But they pull too many pranks.

Ron: He's only a year older than me we get on fairly well. But he's too irritating.

I used to get spoilt rotten when I was younger. Mum was so pleased she had finally got a girl, but as I got older she said I might as well be a boy. Which I don't understand really because it's her and Dad who give me the boy's hand-me-downs. I love it when I do get new things because it happens so rarely really. Bill says I can be whoever I want to be and I just have to believe in myself. I keep telling myself I would feel lonely without my brothers around because I don't like being alone. Fred and George tease me for it but that really is my biggest fear, to be all alone with no one to talk to. People tell me how lucky I am to have 6 caring older brothers sometimes I just want to ask 'How am I lucky? What do I have that anyone would want? We don't have money or good connections! What do we have that anyone else hasn't?' But then I realise what I have. I have them. I have my Family. My 6 amazing (I'll grant slightly annoying) Brothers.

I don't want a lot for Christmas

There's just one thing I need

I don't care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is...

You

Mum listens to that all the time. I never really understood it when I was younger. I always thought you'd want more than that for Christmas surely. But recently I feel that I only want one thing this year:

I don't want a lot for Christmas

There's just one thing I need

I don't care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want to be with you

The people that love me too

Make my wish come true

Baby all I want for Christmas is…

MY FAMILY!!!! (With maybe a few less brothers! But only occasionally)

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**By McFlyFan101**

**General Note (not from the author): This installment was a long time in the making, plagued as it was with technical difficulties of various kinds - so if only for the fact that McFly has been so beautifully patient and understanding, please review! **


	13. Cedrella Black

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 13**

**Cedrella Black**_ wants_** Septimus Weasley**

Her life, she knew, was merely a game of chess that she could never win.

Oh, sure, she could occasionally pull ahead for a few rounds, use her logic and strategy to befuddle her opponent-- the world that held her captive-- for a time, but she could never emerge triumphant in the end. The world would find some way to overcome all of her reason and skill, find some way to completely demolish all of her gains, and she'd once again become the loser.

Well, maybe her opponent wasn't so much the world as the family whom she could never please. Her parents always found her to be either too meek or too brass, her waist to be either too small or too wide, her hair to be either too straight or too curly. They could never be proud of her, never judge her in moderation, not when she was a Black and had to live up to society's unforgiving standards. Not when she was forced to walk an impossibly thin tightrope each and every day, all the while knowing that, if she fell, there would be no safety net below to catch her.

And so, to keep herself from tumbling down to that gruesome social death, she forced herself to live up to her parents expectations of a proper young pureblood lady. She wore the too-tight corsets-- ignoring the whalebone hidden inside that ever dug deeper into her soft skin-- and too-heavy satin robes her Mother gave her without protestation, for proper young pureblood ladies never complained. She let Father forbid her from attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, resigned herself to a life of mere household magic, without ever shedding a tear. This was simply the way her life was meant to be.

But then, suddenly, she met _him_-- Septimus Weasley-- and everything changed. He made her feel as if she could succeed in life, win the game of chess she was forever playing. He made her feel as if it was okay to make a wrong step in life, because he'd be her safety net and protect her from harm.

These were dangerous emotions for her to possess for any man, but especially for him. He was too clumsy, too uncultured, too "blood-traitorous"-- a nickname the Weasleys had earned in high-class pureblood society by investing and losing their family fortune in a foolish muggle war-- to associate with her. He could never deserve her.

And yet, if he could never deserve her, then why did she feel the way she did about him? Why did his name alone make her heart dance joyfully in her chest, her skin tingle as if butterflies were kissing it? Why did his voice hitch her breathing in a way that had nothing to do with the pressure on her lungs? Why did she eagerly agree to meet him at the old, dirty, muggle church on Christmas day when she knew that her parents would never allow it?

She had no name to give the sensations that inspired these questions; her family-- never known, after all, for its sentimentality-- had never her taught her one. She only knew that whatever she was feeling was forbidden in her family; Blacks had not the privilege to experience such emotions.

That was exactly why she needed end this now: she had crossed the invisible line between the platonic and the romantic, and her family need only glance at her to tell. She'd let her king become boxed into a corner, and the world had only to recognize that to finally finish the game.

She was going to tell Septimus this, too-- that she couldn't see him anymore-- when they met on that snowy Christmas morning, was going to tell him as the rusted church bells chimed out nine times, but her throat refused to articulate the words that she had carefully practiced in front of her looking glass. She couldn't do it: cast him out as if he meant nothing to her. She was too selfish to hurt both of them so.

And then Septimus said, "I've got, er, a Christmas gift to give you, Cedrella" and a wide smile instinctively swept across her face. She loved the way the sound of his deep voice reverberated across the empty street, surrounded her in its richness and warmth like a hot, steaming bath on a cold night.

"Yes?" Her own voice, by comparison, sounded feeble and breathless.

"It's, er, not as grandiose or fine as the gifts you're used to receiving, but I hope you'll appreciate it nonetheless." She waited as patiently as she could for him to continue, her heart pounding anxiously within her chest the entire time. "It's my heart, Cedrella. I love you."

Oxygen suddenly became hard for her lungs to come by-- no one, not even her own father, had ever said that he loved her before-- and she knew in that moment that she felt the same way. "I l-love you, too."

With this confession, she realized she had won the game of chess, had jumped headfast from the rope and free-fallen straight into his waiting arms. And, yes, that meant that she had also subjected herself a social death, that her parents would irrevocably disown her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted Septimus' Christmas gift, his love,_him_, more than anything the Blacks could offer.

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**By A Shade of Grey**


	14. Cho Chang

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 14 **

**Cho Chang** _wants _**You.**

_Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option - Anonymous _

The golden foliage leaves the hands of time as autumn fades away, and a delicate ice crystal, quickly liquefied at the slightest touch, falls from the sky.

Its brethren soon join in, waltzing in the air to a music symphony orchestrated by the wind, dancing around the girl sitting by the lake, completely oblivious to the crystal flurry  
.

The girl sits while crystalline tears descend from her eyes, the manila parchment remaining fleetingly and ephemerally forgotten by her side.

Ornate calligraphy embellishes the leaf, words of time frozen and captured in a simple paragraph of innocence, passion, and love.  
_  
_He sits down beside her, the parchment lingering unnoticed between them, the heavens besmirched with clouds grey as steel, and the trees covered in arctic ice glistening from the white.

"It is a lovely afternoon," he says while gently pushing a lock of her charcoal black hair, smooth and silky to the touch, behind her delicately small ear.

She turns to look at him, amber brown eyes meeting his, and simply bites her lip, cold and chapped from the breeze, warily, afraid of what to say.

"What do you want for Christmas?" he inquires while staring into her eyes; She turns and stands, prepared to leave, pausing only to whisper the words she dreamed that she could say, _"I want you."  
_  
He sat on the cold granite bench, perplexed at the events that had taken place, glancing down only for a second, enough time to notice the leaflet she had left behind.

His hands tentatively seize the paper, unfolding it delicately as to not break the parchment. The words adorning the parchment only interrupted by the faintest splotch of running ink, the only evidence left behind from her tears.

_Dear boy, I need you, I want you more than I can bear to stand, this I do not question, and yet every night when I lay in bed the only face I see is yours, only a passing image in my mind. _

_How I want to be by your side everyday for eternity, no matter what happens, no matter what they say or do, always comforted knowing that it will always be just us two._

_How I long to be the only one that you embrace in the hours of darkness, and for you to stay with me in the early hours of the dawn watching the sun cast rainbows of light upon our bed._

_Dear boy, I want to grow old with you and our children, our little angels of innocence and delight, and reside in a world where we will not have to lose sleep or fret about what they say or if our children are safe and sound. _

_How I want you to need me more than air itself, to weep at the concept of my bereavement, to acknowledge us, together, in front of the world, and laugh at those who say we will falter and fail._

_How I long to lay next to you, our hearts beating as one, entwined tighter through time until they are incessantly together, and look up at you and know that there is no other place you would rather be than with me._

_Dear boy, you know who you are, there is no reason to play coy, whisper words of denial or take flight and flee at the prospect of affection, and there is no excuse to pretend you don't know just who I am._

_How I want you to take me by the hand, show me off to the world, and never once deny that we are together._

_How I long for those envious looks from other girls, jealous because I am the woman on your arm, with glares that could kill._

_My dear silly boy, I love you, I always will._

He sat gazing at the letter disbelief dancing in his eyes, until the corners of his lips rose slightly and a smile materialized on his face.

Forcing the parchment into his pocket, he abruptly stood from the bench, sprinting up the mound only stopping until he reached her side.

Like lightning in the sky, Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he cautiously and benevolently reached out and seized her petite hand.

Leaning in close without an ounce of fear, he whispered two small words into her ear,_"Merry Christmas."_

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**By Prelude to the Heart**_  
_


	15. Aberforth Dumbledore

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 15**

**Aberforth Dumbledore** _wants _**a Butterbeer**

He doesn't like wine. It's too sweet, too strong, and it goes straight to his head and makes him angry. It's not great wine either, it doesn't go with the turkey, or the rather dry vegetables.

What Aberforth really wants, really _needs_, is a butterbeer.

And what he really doesn't need is to notice that his brother and the person he currently hates most in the world are holding hands under the table.

"More wine, Gellert?" His mother, smiling helpfully at the pretty German exchange student. Aberforth feels his fists clench under the table. Albus's fancy friend has charmed everyone with his smile and his laugh, with his books and his dreams.

He's seen them both together, his brother and Grindelwald. Walking in the garden, studying in the library. He's seen the talking, discussing, sitting together, red hair and gold, two pairs of bright blue eyes.

He needs to get out. The room is stifling with the heat of the fire and the Christmas roast. He feels the walls constricting around him. He hears his brother's voice and Gellert's laugh and has a sudden fierce desire to smash something.

He wants a butterbeer. Cool and creamy. Honest, unpretentious, simple.

Since then he's never really liked Christmas. The Hog's Head remains undecorated ever year.

* * *

**By Prieda Solo**


	16. Augusta Longbottom

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 16**

**Augusta Longbottom**_ wants_** is to be a real Gran**

I always wanted to be a grandmother.

Are you surprised? My friends would be, if they knew. When it became clear that Frank was going to be an only child, I stopped hoping for another baby and started looking forward to grandchildren. When Neville was born, all my friends said that me being a gran made _them_ feel old. None of them had grandchildren yet, so they didn't understand that holding that bundle of new life makes you feel young again.

I spoiled him in that short time he had with his parents. When you are a parent, you can't buy the fancy toys and the expensive clothes but a gran can! I gave him my special cookies whenever he came to visit; sometimes more than two. I let him play in the mud in those expensive clothes and when Alice made noises about spoiling him, I told her to hush. A gran can do that, you see.

Then Neville came to live with us and things changed.

When you're raising a grandson, you see, you can't buy the expensive clothes. You have to buy _all_ his clothes, so they have to be practical. I can't feed him cookies every time I see him because I see him all day long. I have to teach him about good nutrition and make him eat his spinach. (Neville's an odd one, though, and making him eat all his vegetables has never been a task.) I have to scold him for tracking mud into the house, discipline him for talking back and make sure he keeps track of all his belongings.

A few years after Neville came to live with us, my friends became grandparents. "I now know what you were saying, Augusta!" they chirped with new- grandparent- glow. "I feel young again!"

But I feel so very, very old.

I have to run after a toddler all day long. A real gran can run after her grandkids and then send them home but I can't. I can't sit down and put my feet up, listening to the wireless with a take-away. I have to chase him, feed him, bathe him and then put him to bed. I have to be up with him when he is sick or has a nightmare (and Neville has a lot of those).

I can't spoil, I can't indulge, I can't send him home. I have to raise him, to make sure he knows who his parents _were_, and _why_ they sacrificed their health and sanity for the sake of the wizarding world.

It's snowing; Christmas is coming. There will be presents under the tree for Neville and I _am_ looking forward to see his tiny face shine brightly at the sight of all the boxes and ribbons. But what I want, you can't wrap. You can't buy. No one can give me what I want.

I want time to go back.

I want Frank and Alice to be whole.

I want Neville to live with them, happy.

I want to be a _real_gran.

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**By Laura Walden**


	17. Mary McDonald

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

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**

**Chapter 17**

**Mary McDonald **_wants _**Remus Lupin**

_To my Darling, Dearest Mary,_

_Christmas is on its way, darling, perhaps you would be able to send a return owl with a list of the things you would like._

_Always loving you,_

_Mum._

_xoxo_

Mary sighed. Every year when it got close to Christmas her parents would always ask her what she wanted. She found it very hard, too. It's not that there wasn't anything she wanted; she wanted something with all of her heart. The only problem was that her parents wouldn't be able to get it.

The thing Mary wanted would have been the perfect present, if only her parents understood, if only her older sister wouldn't shriek with glee when she heard, if only, if only she could have it.

This present would make her heart melt. It would make her lips curl up into a smile whenever she passed it or saw it, it would love her back, wipe her tears when she was sad, and hold her warmly and lovingly to keep her safe.

Mary would accept this present and take nothing else if it she received it.

However, if she did receive it she would have to tell someone, and only her closest friends and her notebook really knew about what it was.

It wasn't an it at all. It was a he, a boy, the most handsome, charming, loving, friendly boy in Hogwarts. But if you wanted to find out who it was you would have to be very sneaky as Mary's friends wouldn't tell you who he was, as they were sworn to secrecy. But, if you took a peek in Mary's notebook you might just happen to see a very neatly drawn love heart surrounding his name in cursive writing.

The name wasn't important to Mary though, nor was his title of being one of the most popular boys in school. What mattered to Mary was that he was incredibly sweet and always kind.

Mary dreamed that she could just have this boy as her boyfriend, be his sweetheart, and have the warmness of his hand spread over hers. What she would do for him to hold her hand whilst her heart skipped a beat was certainly indescribable.

But, the chance of any of this happening was very slim, her chances very low.

"HEY! McDonald?" Mary snapped out of her dream and fell back into reality.

"W-what?" Mary faltered as she realised that the person that ruined her dream was in fact one of the best friends of the boy she dreamed of. "Oh, hi, Potter. What do you want?"

"I was just wondering if Lily told you that she likes me. Because, I think she might be playing hard to get or something."

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head, frustrated that all he wanted was her best friend.

"Potter, even if I did know, do you think I would tell you?"

She stood up and strode over to the steps that led up to the girls dormitories, stopping at the bottom. She turned.

"Potter, don't give up trying. She might really like you." At that she turned back and walked up the stairs not knowing that if she stayed a moment longer she would have witnessed James Potter running around the common room.

---

Mary couldn't sleep. All she could think about was Remus Lupin and stupid Potter. '_Why did I have to give him false hope? - Was it because I wanted someone to believe that they could get the one that they loved, the one that they wanted.' _

Mary had had enough. She jumped out of bed and found her way to the common room in the dark. She didn't know what she was going to do down there, she just thought that anywhere was better than thinking in a room with 3 other girls. She needed space for herself.

---

"Mary. Mary, you are going to miss breakfast if you don't wake up."

Mary awoke to the softest, most friendly voice, possibly more friendly than that of her own Mother. But, was that possible?

She breathed in deeply and caught scent of something that was beautiful. It smelt of memories and comfort.

She opened her eyes, and there, standing directly above her was Remus Lupin.

"Why did you sleep down here?" he asked softly.

"I-I couldn't sleep." She replied, sitting up, her heart beating faster. Maybe, he liked her back.

"Oooh! Remus and McDonald sitting in a tree-" came the voices of James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

But Remus cut them off, "Oh, grow up you three. Lily asked me to wake her up."

At that exact moment Mary slumped back down in the couch, her heart beat steadying, her dreams vanishing.

"I'm just going to go get ready then." Mary said, and slowly walked back up to her dormitory.

---

Despite all of the joy and Christmas spirit spreading rapidly around the castle like a rumour about someone hexing another student, Mary was a little depressed.

Nothing could make her happy, not even the excitement of the first years because they had never been at Hogwarts near Christmas; they had never seen the twelve Christmas trees get put up.

But, one morning, Mary and Lily were walking slowly to Charms, and Mary stopped dead when she found herself under some mistletoe. Lily stopped too, and gazed at Mary curiously.

Mary sighed, shook her head and continued walking, Lily followed, very confused.

---

It was Christmas Eve and Mary was sitting on her bed at home, her window wide open. It brought a cold draught and the distant sounds of carollers. She was wrapping up some presents for her family, wondering what would be waiting for her under the Christmas tree, all wrapped up.

She just wished, wanted, dreamed that Remus would be under there, giving her a comforting smile that caused her stomach to roll over.

---

At his house, Remus was sitting on the Kitchen bench, enjoying the smells of food cooking. But he wasn't completely content, because all Remus really wanted was to hold Mary and keep her safe.

* * *

**By SharkiesGirl**


	18. Petunia Evans

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you**** recognise**** belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Petunia Evans **_wants_** love**

Petunia is born on Christmas Day. Obviously, she doesn't remember it, but her father once told her that it was a strenuous time, only brightened by the shining light that she represented. He makes it sound like a fairytale, like she was the princess that everyone adored, like she was the girl who ignited fire and passion in her parents' hearts and caused everyone to coo and fawn over her. She knows that, really, it would have been a messy affair, her mother aching after a long and gruelling labour, but she imagines her fairytale world anyway, complete with a little pink bow residing in her hair.

She imagines a world where she is queen and her birth was celebrated with banners and fireworks and royal progressions, not just a bottle of wine and a weeping grandmother. Happiness radiates from every face, she has the attention of a thousand eyes, and there is definitely nothing even remotely reminiscent of the true scenario.

At least in her imagination she can feel the love and the passion.

**--- **

When Petunia is nine, her grandparents are invited for Christmas dinner. Petunia and Lily are groomed to perfection, turned into living, breathing porcelain dolls just to be scrutinised by their own family. Her dress is itchy, but her mother shoots her a reproving glance every time she attempts to scratch. Petunia would do it deliberately, just to irk her overbearing grandmother and laugh at the look of hideous disgust and despair as her grandfather ponders the state of young children today, but she won't, because she's good and proper and the model daughter, even if Lily is the one with all of the attention.

Her grandparents barge through the door, cramming a parcel into her hands, before engulfing Lily in a hug. Lily grins, but it's forced, her teeth are too close together, her cheeks too stretched.

She doesn't want the love of her grandparents, but Petunia does.

Petunia flops in the corner, before shooting her parents an apologetic glance and straightening herself out in the grand, high backed chairs that surround the dining room table. Prim and Proper, as always. With tantalisingly and frustratingly slow speed she tears at the wrapping paper, her face ready to burst into motion and start grinning. It's habit these days, she now knows not to expect the new records or dolls that she wants, but the dresses and the soaps and the pretty, frilly and oh so useless things that she doesn't.

"Thankyou," she mumbles, she can feel her skin burning under her mother's persistent glares as that smile graces her face, sincere yet also slightly fake.

Her grandparents are about to respond with their customary "you're welcome," but Lily interrupts.

"Grandma, Grandpa, look at me."

She sprints across the room, arms flailing in an all too good impression of an aeroplane, and then suddenly she flips upside down, showing off her perfect handstand. Her skirt wobbles, exposing a small amount of pearly white thigh, which is something for which Petunia would be berated about for hours, yet they clap like mad for Lily, it's as deafening as thunder.

No-one notices Petunia sneak off to her room.

"Dear Father Christmas," she wishes, even though she no longer believes in such things, because that's for fools like Lily. Father Christmas is just some fat old man from the village, a different one every year, it's not like they have the power to change anyone's life. Even though she's already opened her presents and gotten that gorgeous dress she wanted and a massive pile of things she didn't want, she continues. "I want a signed Beatles poster and a new pair of shoes and I want Lily to disappear and Mum and Dad to love me best."

It's a harsh thought, but passion surges through Petunia flowing as fast a wave and she just wants to ride it. She's always thought herself as calm, not exactly boring but very much living to a routine. Everyone knows exactly what to suspect from Petunia Evans.

That's probably why the whole family is shocked when she finally appears back downstairs, tears clinging to her eyelashes. There is a stunned silence, and then her mother says, voice dripping with regret, although Petunia thinks it's probably more for the fact that she's wetting her dress than anything, "Happy birthday."

Petunia nods, but still she feels like something is missing, because masks and smothering things can't hide what wasn't already there.

**--- **

Fate is a funny thing, Petunia decides, staring forlornly at the Christmas tree, complete with ornate decorations and glittering baubles. How can you hate someone, despise every fibre of their being, and then miss them as soon as they are away?

The house seems empty, as though she was the eternal flame and it has been extinguished, and yet she seems to be everywhere. The ribbon adorning the Christmas cake is the exact shade of her hair, and the green of the wrapping paper seems to stare back at her with as much intensity as Lily's eyes.

Christmas is over, as is her birthday, and prayers have been said and presents unwrapped, but it's so harsh, so formal and meticulous. Petunia's starting to understand why Lily is the apple of her parents' eye; it isn't' because of her brains, her mesmerising dance skills or her wicked sense of humour, it is her passion and her life and spirit.

And for this, and this alone (or at least that's what she tells herself), Petunia misses her sister. Without Lily around, Christmas suddenly seems like a present that's already been unwrapped, the excitement is gone, everything has been stripped to the core, and it's all devoid of love.

So, as she blows out the last candle on the combined Christmas and birthday cake (Petunia still can't help but be jealous that Lily wasn't born on Christmas Day and have to share her birthday with the world), she makes a wish.

"_I wish Lily would come home__, and that Mum and Dad would love me, just like they love her."_

**--- **

Lily does come home for Christmas, two years later, dragging Severus, that stupid, idiotic, naïve, bat like boy with her. Petunia sees her parents' noses upturn, but they hide them behind mountains of presents and plates of roast turkey, as though it will hide their obvious distaste. She can't help but sneer along, because perfect Lily has finally done something wrong, and she knows she should hate this boy, because he's from her world, the world that she so desperately wants to be a part of and yet he's so captivating and something inside her burns for him, but it's so obvious that, just like everyone else, he's besotted with her vibrant and exquisite sister.

After the joint Christmas and birthday dinner and present unwrapping, they sneak outside, all three of them, ignoring their mothers' persistent cries of "Lily, Petunia."

They sprawl themselves on the swings in the nearby playground, Sev splays himself across a park bench and Lily settles herself between his legs; he curls her hair around a bony finger, seemingly unperturbed by Petunia's visible disgust. Petunia sits on the rusty wooden swing, her feet gently grazing against the sand that covers the coarse grass.

She cannot help but be mesmerised by the sickening display. A fire is burning inside her, consuming her soul, and she's writhing with jealousy, and yet no-one notices it. She's just Petunia Evans, the sister who is special to no-one.

Petunia wants to wish and pray that Severus would love her, but she won't, because fate is against her and it's obvious that Lily and Severus are destined for a happily ever after.

They're destined for love. Petunia is only destined to want love.

**--- **

Four years later, when Petunia is twenty and _finally_able to say she is taken, Lily announces that she's bringing another friend home for Christmas. Dreamily, she remembers Severus, her world both tainted and blessed by broken dreams and hazy remnants of a past, by memories of the swing set, which had creaked eerily in the snowy winter night's silence. He's the past now, and Vernon is her present and her future. He's her Prince Charming, only with a bit more weight and a stupid moustache that she really wants to shave off, but she can't figure out how without offending him.

It's not Severus that Lily brings home though, but another, infinitely more gorgeous boy. He bows and kisses her parents' hands and introduces himself as James. Lily keeps giving him wary glances, as though she's worried that he won't behave, and yet he captivates her whole family. Vernon is doting on her, telling everyone that it's her birthday and insisting that they spoil her, but it seems so fake next to _his _stories of escapades and exploding potions and Quidditch, whatever that is. It's turned into a silent battle between Lily and Petunia's boyfriends, something that is never acknowledged, but everyone knows it's there, the underlying tension and the slightly less than friendly glances.

After opening presents and listening to Vernon gush about his prospects at Grunnings and James talk about something or other to do with criminals (Petunia thinks it's got something to do with catching unscrupulous people like the police do), everyone scurries into the dining room for Christmas dinner.

Everyone's laughing, and Vernon and she are discussing his neighbours, who spend more time staring out the windows than at their television, when Lily emits a shriek and jumps into James' arms, sending gravy flying across the table. Quickly, Petunia's eyes flicker from the broken, torn Christmas cracker to the velvet box that lies on the table, and to Lily and James, who are sharing a passionate kiss, despite her parents tutting.

"Lily Evans, will you make me the luckiest man alive by marrying me."  
"Yes, yes, of course."

And as they lean in again, Petunia can't help but feel that same writhing jealousy she felt all those years ago, it's wriggling around inside her like a snake. She thought that Vernon could cure her entire life, and patch up the leaking holes that allowed envy to pour from her heart, but still, she wants everything Lily has.

She wants love.

* * *

**By Cuban Sombrero Gal**

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	19. Harry Potter

**Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 19**

**Harry Potter **_wants_** Bells**

**To Hear the Bells Ring**

Harry Potter had never really enjoyed Christmas. Before finding out that he was a wizard, it was just another day for the Dursleys to treat him like something that had been dumped on their doorstep which, they were quick to remind him, was precisely what had happened. So when Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley all decided to spend Christmas at Aunt Marge's house one year, Harry wasn't sorry to be left behind even though it meant staying with Mrs. Figg, their batty old neighbor who wore carpet slippers all the time and kept about nineteen cats. He wasn't particularly fond of Mrs. Figg, but he liked Aunt Marge even less, and any holiday without the Dursleys could only be an improvement.

Perhaps because it was a holiday, Mrs. Figg left off forcing him to look at pictures of all the cats she'd ever owned. She even planned a nice Christmas lunch, though it came to naught when the cats ate the turkey because she left it out overnight (Harry was glad to see they were all sick the next day). Also, the pudding was ruined when Mrs. Figg, in an excess of holiday spirits, overdid the brandy so that when she touched a match to it, the whole thing went up in a burst of flames that set the kitchen curtains on fire. Mrs. Figg sent Harry into the sitting room with a cheese and pickle sandwich while she disposed of the pudding, tore down the charred curtains, and wiped smoke off the walls. As he ate, Harry decided to watch television. And that was when he first heard the story of the bells.

There wasn't much to choose from on T.V., but Harry settled on a church program in which a man in a dark suit with a funny, turned around collar was telling a story. It was the story of a very old church with wonderful bells that would only ring when a gift of the purest love was offered. Year after year people tried to make the bells ring, bringing with them the finest they owned to lay upon the altar, but year after year the bells remained silent. Kings came from all over the world with gifts of gold and precious jewels, but still the bells would not ring. Then, one Christmas Eve, a small, ragged boy entered the church to get out of the cold and when he saw people placing gifts on the altar, he thought he would like to give something too. But what could a poor orphan like him possibly offer that these far more affluent others had not? The boy looked around helplessly and finally his eyes came to rest on his own tattered, threadbare coat. It was all he owned in the world, but it was the very best he had. So he took off the coat and laid it tenderly on the altar. . .

And the bells rang.

Harry was impressed by this story, not least because he identified so strongly with the orphan boy whose humble gift made the bells ring out. Harry was an orphan too, with little to call his own, and there was something about the story that made it seem almost . . . well, magical. This was before he knew anything about magic, but he understood that the story went deeper than the gift itself. Harry had no very clear idea about what a gift of pure love might involve. In fact, he knew very little about love at all, having received so little of it himself, but he knew that a gift of such magnitude might well make something magical happen. What would it take, Harry wondered, to make the bells ring for him?

Harry finally began to appreciate Christmas the following year which turned out to be his first at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Aside from the wonder of discovering that he was a wizard, Harry had friends at Hogwarts for the first time in his life. This, all by itself, was miraculous, for Harry's thuggish cousin had never let anyone get close enough to allow him to make friends before. But now there was Ron Weasley, his best mate, and Hermione Granger who, though rather bossy, tended to grow on one over time. Harry even received presents that Christmas, not miserable presents like the pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks he had received the previous year, but real gifts from his friends and a jumper from Ron's mother, which Harry thought was awfully nice from a woman with whom he'd barely exchanged a dozen words. But the best gift of all was undoubtedly the silver invisibility cloak that had once belonged to his father. It would have been wonderful for that reason alone, but when he used the cloak to explore the castle later that night, something even more wonderful happened.

Harry would never forget the moment he saw his family for the first time in the Mirror of Erised. No one had ever told him that his mother's eyes were the exact shape and shade as his own, or that his father had black hair and wore glasses like he did, or that one of his grandfathers had the same knobbly knees. Even though Harry knew all these people were dead, seeing them made him feel connected to something he'd never felt connected to before. He didn't understand it, but the feeling was irresistible and it drew him back night after night. It might have continued indefinitely had not the Headmaster of Hogwarts warned him against the mirror's addictive power. "It does not do to live in dreams and forget to live," Professor Dumbledore said. And the very next day the mirror was moved to a new location so that Harry could not find it again.

Later, as he lay in his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought about Dumbledore's words. The story of the bells he'd heard the previous Christmas seemed like one of the dreams Dumbledore had mentioned, a childhood fantasy he'd been foolish to believe might have any basis in reality. For most of his life he had felt that he was only marking time until something better came along. Well, now something better had, and he wasn't going to waste it dreaming of things that could never be. The only family he had were the Dursleys, who didn't want him, and all the others had gone to a place he could not follow. His parents were dead. That was a fact, and staring at their faces in a mirror wasn't going to bring them back, any more than wishing to hear bells at Christmas could possibly make them ring.

It was many years before Harry thought again about the bells, years in which he focused primarily on survival. Lord Voldemort, who had killed his parents and tried to kill him, never really stopped trying and more than once nearly succeeded. But Harry did survive and in the process he learned a lot about the mysterious power that made bells ring. He learned about the love of a mother willing to lay down her life for her son, thereby granting him a protection that lived on inside of him. He learned about the love of a father who defended his family even when no defense was possible and the only outcome was certain death. He learned about the love between friends who laughed with him, argued with him, struggled and fought with him, celebrated and wept with him, defended him and cheered him on. And he learned about the love that was an ache in the heart, a steady, physical pain that never went away, yet also made him feel that he could fly without a broom, a vibrant color on the palette of life that gave it meaning and purpose. When the war ended and Voldemort had gone for good, it was this feeling that gave Harry the strength to rebuild his life while the wizarding world rose from the ashes. So many had died, so much had been lost, but with Ginny at his side he could conquer anything. His love for Ginny, and hers for him, made Harry feel that he truly had "The power the Dark Lord knew not." But even then, when Christmas came, he did not hear bells.

He came very close one year, but it was wedding bells he heard, because that was when Ginny agreed to marry him. He'd been asking her ever since she came of age, but she wasn't ready then and, if Harry was perfectly honest, neither was he. Ginny had received an offer to play Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and Harry couldn't really blame her for wanting to spread her wings, but that didn't stop him from popping the question every year on her birthday and again at Christmas. It became a kind of tradition and had begun to feel a bit tedious when Ginny finally said yes one Christmas Eve. It wasn't as if she'd ever really turned him down with any of his previous proposals; she just needed more time. But now the time was right, and if anything could have made Harry hear bells, it was surely the kiss they shared when he slipped a ring on her finger by the light of the Christmas tree.

They were married the following spring, and coming home to Ginny from his job as an Auror was even better than Harry had dreamed it would be. Life was good, for not only did they have each other, but they spent a lot of time with Ron and Hermione who had married not long after Harry and Ginny. They also made time for Teddy Lupin, who was being raised by his grandmother, but Harry was determined that his orphaned godson would never know the loneliness or isolation he had suffered. He and Ginny made the little boy part of their family and, by extension, Andromeda Tonks, whom everyone came to love for her own sake. Surrounded as he was by people who loved him and whom he loved, Harry's life was very full. His cup of happiness could scarcely contain another drop, yet when the drop came, the cup expanded to hold even more.

A few months before their third wedding anniversary, Harry came home one evening to find Ginny in an unusual mood. She'd been suffering from a digestive upset and the sight of her flushed face reminded him that she'd had an appointment at St. Mungo's that day. The paranoia born of so many years of anxiety and terror made his heart lurch, but all that evaporated when Ginny flung her arms around him and told him they were going to have a baby.

Harry blinked. "A what?"

"A baby," Ginny repeated. "You know, one of those small, human-like creatures with lots of leaky bits? You must have heard of them."

"You're pregnant?" said Harry, still in a state of shock. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I. . ." Harry felt dazed. A baby. They were going to have a baby! "That means . . . It means we're going to be parents?"

"That's generally the way it works," said Ginny, eyeing him with concern. "Harry, are you sure you're all right? I thought you'd be. . . I don't know. Happy."

"I am," Harry said, and all of a sudden he was. As the reality sank in, it struck him that this was the most wonderful news he'd ever heard. His face split into a wide grin, and he lifted Ginny off her feet, swinging her around while they both laughed at the wonder of it all. He set her down abruptly, however, and said, "Oh, my God, I'm sorry! I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not."

"And the baby! Did I hurt the baby?"

"We're both fine," Ginny insisted, grinning up at him. "I love you, Harry."

"Oh, Ginny. I love you, too."

In the months that followed, Harry learned that sometimes love meant holding her hair out of the way while she was sick, not just in the morning, but morning, noon, and night for the first couple of months. Harry would have done anything to relieve Ginny's misery, but his father-in-law, who had, after all, been through this six times, told him there wasn't much to be done about it.

"It's normal, I'm afraid," Arthur assured him. "But don't worry, it'll pass."

No sooner had the queasiness passed, however, when the mood swings began. Ginny burst into tears at the least provocation, which left Harry distinctly rattled because Ginny almost never cried. And it wasn't just normal things she cried about, such as his suggestion that they bring Winky into their home to help with the baby. That particular flood Harry could understand because the suggestion was partially inspired out of loyalty to Dobby whose memory had always made Ginny a little teary. But she also burst into sobs when they ran out of Floo powder, and his offer to Apparate to Diagon Alley to buy more only made her cry harder. Harry was at a loss what to do, but once again his father-in-law reassured him.

"Normal," Arthur said. "It'll pass."

But how could something like this be _normal_? Like all the Weasleys, Ginny had always been temperamental, but now she was like Bellatrix Lestrange with chronic migraine. Everything irritated her, from the weather, to the way her ankles swelled, to the news in the _Daily Prophet_. Even the way Harry's hair stuck up in back got on her nerves. He couldn't do anything about that, but he apologized for it anyway.

"Stop apologizing!" she snapped. "You apologize for everything, do you realize that? It's driving me bloody mental!"

"Sorry," said Harry. "I mean . . . Well, never mind."

Harry couldn't seem to do anything right, even when he told her that she had never looked more beautiful to him. "I look like a fat cow," she retorted, glaring.

"You don't," he insisted. "In my eyes, you're beautiful. After all, you're having my baby."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Ginny grumbled. "Do me a favor and _don't_ burst into song! I'm nauseous enough as it is."

"Sorry," said Harry.

"And stop apologizing!"

Once again, Arthur told Harry that it was normal and would pass and, as usual, he was right. As the autumn months arrived, Ginny's hormones sorted themselves out and she entered a peaceful period of happy anticipation. But no sooner had she calmed down when Harry's anxieties flared. What if he wasn't a good father? What did he know about being a parent, after all, especially having never known his own? To be sure, he'd had a bit of practice changing nappies and the like when Teddy was a baby, but it wasn't the same as having complete responsibility for a child. Harry reflected on the fact that he'd had years of magical education, with additional training to become an Auror, but no one had ever taught him how to be a dad, and if ever he needed instruction in anything, this was it.

Harry decided to consult Hermione. She and Ron had been giving some serious thought to starting a family, and Hermione had already begun to amass an impressive array of books on the subject. She had everything from What To Do When Your Witch is Expecting to _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Magical Child Care_, and was more than happy to lend her collection to Harry. He perused them in bed at night and Ginny flipped through a few pages herself, though she was inclined to agree with her mother (one of the few times Harry had ever heard her do so out loud) that it really came down to common sense and doing what your instincts told you was right. But Harry wasn't even sure he had instincts like that, so he read everything he could lay hands on, and came away more confused than ever. None of the books seemed to agree even about feeding schedules, let alone the more complex problems of raising a young witch or wizard. Ginny kept reminding Harry that witches and wizards had been having babies for thousands of years and usually managed not to kill them, which, funnily enough, did little for his confidence. He turned again to Arthur who assured him that his anxiety was normal, but unfortunately, it was unlikely to pass.

"None of us is perfect, Harry," said Arthur. "But children have a way of surviving most of our mistakes. I think they can forgive a lot when whatever you do is done with love."

"Did you ever doubt your ability to be a good father?" Harry asked.

Arthur chuckled. "I still do!"

Ginny went into labor on a clear, cold evening in early December, and it was lucky Ron and Hermione happened to be visiting, because otherwise Harry didn't know how they would have gotten to St. Mungo's. They had decided to drive to the hospital because Apparating in late pregnancy could be tricky, but Harry, who had prepared weeks in advance, couldn't remember where he'd left his car keys. He was certain he'd put them in a safe place, but was damned if he could recall where that was, and after searching for ten minutes, Hermione finally located them in a drawer whose sturdy lock resisted all their Summoning charms. But once the keys had been found, Harry couldn't seem to remember how to drive and Ron had gone an interesting shade of pasty gray when his sister gave a barely audible moan in response to a contraction. Hermione took charge and drove them all to St. Mungo's where Ginny was taken in hand by a stern-faced healer who demanded in an accusatory tone, "Which of you is responsible for this?"

"Don't look at me!" said Ron. "I'm her brother!"

"Go on, Harry," Hermione said. "I'll send Patronuses to the rest of the family." She smiled encouragingly. "We'll be right here the whole time. We won't stir a step, I promise. Go on now. Ginny needs you."

Harry had no clear recollection of the next few hours, except that it involved a lot of yelling. However, he was responsible for half of that, as Ginny squeezed his hand so tightly he was relatively certain all the bones had been crushed to a fine powder. In between contractions, he fed her ice chips, dabbed at her forehead with a cool, damp cloth, and whispered encouragement. Before either of them knew it, someone was telling Ginny to push. Harry watched with a combination of awe and revulsion as something slippery and wet, covered in a substance he didn't even want to know the name of, slid out of his wife's body and began to wail.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter," said the healer. "You have a son."

The slippery, wet thing was wrapped in a blanket and placed beside Ginny who gazed into its tiny face as if she had never seen anything like it. "Oh, Harry," she murmured. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Harry decided to reserve judgment. The little blanket-wrapped thing looked faintly gnome-like and appeared to be undergoing some mighty internal struggle. It thrashed about wildly, smacking itself in the face a few times, and Harry, who was staring in wordless astonishment, reached out a tentative finger. To his amazement, the tiny thing grabbed hold and clung with surprising strength. Something warm and wonderful flooded through Harry, a realization that this squalling, red-faced creature was a living, breathing soul who, by some miraculous fusion, was part of him and Ginny. They had blended in the person of this tiny, wrinkled scrap of humanity, and through them Molly and Arthur, Lily and James, and all the others that had gone before. Harry smiled at Ginny and kissed her, resting his forehead against hers in mute gratitude. He whispered something incoherent, she whispered something equally incomprehensible back, and they both laughed when the baby socked Harry in the jaw with a flailing fist.

"Would you care to hold him, Mr. Potter?" the healer asked. "Perhaps you'd like to introduce him to his family while we get your wife settled in her room."

Harry carried the blanket-wrapped bundle to the Relatives Room, where the entire Weasley clan was assembled. Molly and Arthur were there, as were Bill and Fleur with their children, five-year-old Victoire and year-old twins, Romulus and Remus. Charlie, who was still a bachelor, had Apparated in from Romania with his girlfriend, Olga, a fellow dragon keeper. Percy and Penelope were at hand, along with Prewett, aged four, Priscilla, two, and three-month-old Prescott. Next to them were George, his wife Katie, and their one-year-old son Fred. Andromeda Tonks was there as well with seven-year-old Teddy, whose hair was Weasley red that night to blend in. Finally, there were Ron and Hermione who, as promised, had not stirred a step, and it was to them that Harry spoke first.

"I'd like you to meet your godson," Harry said, in a quiet voice that sounded like a shout in the sudden hush that greeted his appearance. "This is James Sirius Potter."

Everyone clustered around the baby who was passed around like refreshments at a party, and was alternately poked and prodded, kissed and clucked over. Molly burst into tears, as was her custom at the births of her grandchildren, and pronounced young James adorable. Arthur noted a similarity in the shape of his grandson's eyes to Harry's, but agreed with Bill that the forehead and chin were like Ginny's, though it was beyond Harry's comprehension how they could see anything in the shapeless infant folds. Charlie presented his nephew with a stuffed toy dragon, while George announced that a new WWW product would be created in James' honor. Teddy was allowed to hold the baby, as was Victoire, though her mother remained close by to make sure the tiny head was supported. They tried to get Ron to hold James too, but he backed away as if someone had just threatened to immerse him in a boiling vat of bubotuber puss.

"No way!" Ron protested. "I'll drop it or smash it or something, for sure."

"Not 'it,' Ron," chided Percy, who was bouncing James in an expert, slightly pompous way. "The correct pronoun is 'he.'"

"Whatever," said Ron. "But you know me. The possibilities are too gruesome to contemplate."

"Come on, Ron," said George. "If Percy can do it, anyone can."

With a glare at George, Percy dumped James in Ron's arms, causing a little squeak of alarm, not from the baby but from Ron.

"Ron, he's a baby, not a bomb," said Hermione. "Here, give him to me. I'll show you how it's done."

Hermione tucked James into the crook of her arm and made cooing noises. Ron's face softened and he murmured, "Beautiful."

"Isn't he, though?" Hermione agreed. "He really is a beautiful baby." Then she looked up and realized that Ron wasn't looking at James at all. Her face went red and Harry decided to retrieve his son before Hermione forgot she was holding him.

The healers came to announce that Ginny was settled in her room. In small groups they all went in to see her. James slept in a cot near her bed, clearly worn out by his struggles, while Harry beamed at both of them, seemingly unable to stop smiling. One by one the various family members drifted away so that Ginny could rest, but Molly stayed long enough to supervise her grandson's first feeding. Then she left too, determined to ensure that Grimmauld Place would be scrubbed to within an inch of its life by the time Ginny and the baby went home the next day. Soon only Ginny, Harry, and James remained.

"You should go too," said Ginny. "You must be tired."

"Actually, I'm not," Harry replied. "Still too keyed up, I suppose. Do you mind if I stay? I promise to be quiet. You sleep. I'll just sit here for awhile."

"Suit yourself," Ginny said, placing her hand in his as her eyes closed.

Harry had been sitting for only a minute, basking in all the feelings enveloping him, when a distant sound caught his attention and he tilted his head to listen. At first it was only a vague jingling noise, but it grew louder, and the peal became a chime, until finally a raucous _ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong_ rent the air. Harry strode to the window, looking down at the Muggle street below, but he could see nothing through the thick panes. He lifted the window sash and the sudden movement woke Ginny. She opened her eyes and looked to where Harry was poking his head out of the window in an effort to locate the source of the sound.

"Do you hear that?" he demanded.

"Those bells, you mean?" said Ginny, yawning. "Of course I do. There's a church near here, I think." She shivered and leaned over to tuck blankets around the baby. "Close the window, Harry. It's freezing!"

Harry closed the window, but for some reason he could still hear it and it was just as clear and bright as it had been in the cold night air. The bells rang out in joyous celebration, peal upon peal of harmonious sound unlike anything he had ever heard. Ginny continued staring at him as he stood by the window, wearing the silliest grin she had ever seen in her life. She frowned in mingled pique and curiosity, but of course she had no way of knowing what Harry was remembering. He thought of the story he'd heard long ago, so very long ago, in fact, that he'd almost forgotten. But the grin that split his face had nothing to do with bells.

"Go back to sleep," Harry said, resuming his place by her side and taking her hand in his again. "I'll explain in the morning."

"If you say so," she replied drowsily.

Harry watched the baby thrash about in his cot, then looked at Ginny, who had given way to exhaustion. But she still held Harry's hand, and he gave hers a gentle squeeze as the sound of bells faded into silence. Christmas was still weeks away, but Harry already had everything he wanted. It was what he had always wanted, and he smiled at the richness surrounding him, knowing that for him, Christmas had come early.

He had finally heard the bells ring.

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**By Cassandra's Cross**

**A/N:**The events described in this story correspond with my full-length fic, 'The Letter.' If you like this story, you might want to check that one out as well. In the meantime, please take just a minute to leave a review.


	20. Xenophilius Lovegood

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, character and other things you**** recognise**** belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 20**

**Xenophilius Lovegood **_wants_** his family home**

"… _taken, Xeno. Our Ginny saw the aftermath on the train. I'm so sorry. Please, Xeno, if you need to spend some time away, know that the Burrow is open to you, and always will be."_

"_Arthur, you've put yourself in plenty of danger just by coming here. I thank you for your kindness in delivering this message yourself, but you have your own family to attend to. Keep them safe, Arthur. Keep them close by."_

You never did finish that mind-expansion potion, Kitten, but I've read your notes. A potion with which the drinker could accept the world around him based on the faith and love he has in others, rather than on his limited sensual perception. It was going to be your magnum opus, your contribution to Wizarding society. Kitten, I could use some of that potion. Luna's always told me that you're close at hand, yet in this house right now I am so alone, so terribly alone. Could your potion have helped me believe her, even now? I've dusted for wrackspurts. I've checked for nargles, but all I see is an empty house where once the two brightest lights in my life shone. And it doesn't feel like Christmas at all, especially without our little Luna. That goon-squad ripped her right off the train like a common criminal, and Merlin only knows what those monsters are doing, but she's a resourceful girl, so much like you. When you left us Kitten, she was all I had left. She's my entire life now, and she's in the hands of You Know Who's thugs.

The mistletoe is all overgrown without you and her here, Kitten. Do you remember, love, the Christmas when she was six? She took you to every branch to kiss you under each of bundle of the stuff. When I married you I was so much older, and I thought you'd miss your youth with an old man like me. But then came Luna, and your youthful energy just blossomed even further in the silver-grey eyes and guileless exuberance of the most beautiful child the Gods have ever seen. Not that they left us time for the medi-witches or St. Mungo's, mind. Of course she was born in the garden, as we were leaving for the hospital, under the light of the brightest full Moon either of us had seen in ages. And you kept looking up at that Moon, drawing strength from it. And through the Moonlight our precious child shone. Since the Moon had midwifed, the child bore her name. And that light still shines, Kitten; Merlin does it shine. But not tonight. Waning just past the third quarter, masked by clouds, and captive in the hands of the darkest magic.

She's made you a present every year since you left us, Kitten. The first year it was a wreath of dirigible plums, and she said it was so that you would know you are still with us. I'm sorry Kitten, but there won't be any presents from Luna this year. There won't be biscuits baked or cakes drenched in firewhiskey either. I can't even write, never mind decorate. So the mistletoe will go un-kissed this year. There will be no tree, no pudding, no plimpie soup. Just an empty house with a very sad old man.

I know it's not my fault, or I try to know that. But what if I had done as the Ministry asked? Would they have taken my little Luna-light from me? Probably so, because of those friends of hers. Better friends I couldn't have picked out myself. I always did like that Weasley family, even if they are a little odd. And she went and befriended the most wanted man in Britain. Did you hear about the battle at the Ministry, Kitten? Luna stunned several Death Eaters, although she says their ears were full of wrackspurts at the time. She's picking up that Gryffindor modesty hanging around that lot. And their bravery, too. She's sent me owls about what she and her friends have been up to, keeping up spirits around Hogwarts, continuing the fight, even with the blasted Ministry's changes. She's kept me inspired, love, so I've continued to publish the truth. And this is how it ends.

Yes Kitten, she would have been taken anyway. And you were going to make that potion, even knowing the risks. The ingredients were volatile, but it was your life's work. In the end, it was your life. And Luna's life is, for whatever reason, wrapped up in this pointless war. And what does that potion or this war bring? It doesn't bring you near me, together watching those graceful sliver eyes of our Luna light up like heliopaths as she opened up a present. And it doesn't bring Luna here to tend to the mistletoe or help with the _Quibbler, _or just to go fishing in the stream. Next year, Kitten. Next year I will have my Luna with me for Christmas, whether it's just her and me, or whether we've joined you wherever you are tonight. Whatever it takes, Kitten, this will be the last Christmas I spend without my family.

"…_toe the line is it, then? I suppose an article or two could be written, in exchange for my daughter's safety. Toe the line it is, then."_

"_See that you do, you half-brained old coot. Shame if something were to happen to the lass. She does have the prettiest eyes, doesn't she?"_

* * *

**By respitedchristopher**


	21. Helena Ravenclaw

**Disclaimer: ****Settings, characters and everything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

**Chapter 21**

**Helena Ravenclaw **_wants _**her lover and body back**

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The Grey Lady sat in the Astronomy Tower. Her bright eyes shimmered in the darkness. It was Christmas Eve and Helena Ravenclaw was casting The Bloody Baron dirty looks when he was offering her a present; the nerve of his.

Helena didn't want anything for Christmas. Except _him_. And her body back. You see, each day at least five mischievous fourth years would run through her ghostly body, she almost looked like a two-dimensional picture on a grey sheet of paper.

She just wanted him. Nothing could bring him back. Nothing. Nothing but the Mirror Of Erised.

Her story was just like Snow White's. A fairy tale Rowena had read to her since she was three; it was both their favourite story. Helena was like Snow White, but she was mean but innocent and Rowena was kind and she had seven stone dwarfs; she kept them in her jewelery box in her room.

Helena was the baddie and had run away. She stayed in the forest and The Baron was Rowena's servant, but instead of going to kill Snow White, The Baron had gone to find Helena for Rowena.

While Helena was in the forest, she had found her Prince Charming. He was called Adam Gryffindor. The son of Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff.

**---**

Helena stared into the Mirror Of Erised. She saw herself with her own body and with Adam Gryffindor.

Her body looked so…solid and he looked so real. She ran her translucent fingers down the mirror, thinking she really did have a real body, even though she could feel her fingers going through the mirror.

Her tight body made her body stand out and she felt so much younger again. She smiled, as a tear trickled down her cheek. And then all of a sudden she looked into the Mirror Of Erised and saw another reflection. The real reflection of Adam Gryffindor.

"Adam?" Helena turned around and saw the ghost of her lover. His face was young, his golden, curly hair laying over his eyes.

"Helena…" his deep, pure voice called out. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh Adam!" Helena went and hugged Adam by the neck. She thought she'd go right through him. But no, a ghost can't go through a ghost. It's like two wrongs don't make a wrong.

They make a right. Because they're meant to be; both the ghosts had both their own sins.

"I love you so much Helena," Adam bowed his head down, as Helena tip-toed up, and they kissed a kiss that lit the room, that formed sparkles, that produced fireworks.

And they had never noticed that Dobby the elf had hung a mistletoe right above their heads.

* * *

**By Pinky Acid Mannequin**


	22. Fred Weasley

**Disclaimer: ****Settings, characters and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 22**

**Fred Weasley **_wants _**a teddy bear **

Ron Weasley opened his mouth and wailed, as he hadn't done since he was less than a year old. But then, if your teddy bear had suddenly grown six extra legs and several more eyes, you'd cry like a baby too.

It was only fair, Fred thought. He'd told his younger brother not to touch his broomstick. But the little bugger hadn't listened and now it was in pieces. Their mom would be able to fix Ron's teddy bear; she hadn't been able to fix his broom.

So while three-year-old Ron Weasley wailed and cried, their mother demanded their father's wand back from Fred and sent him to his room. She then set Ron's bear right again before going upstairs to talk with Fred.

"You know better than to steal daddy's wand when he's had a long day of work and falls asleep."

"I'm sorry," said Fred.

"If it happens again, Fred Weasley, I'll jinx your hands together."

Fred twisted his arms around each other as though to see what it might be like. There was a look of concentration on his face like he was trying to figure out how he could get his father's wand with his arms coiled in that way.

Molly Weasley shook her head and let it slide. There were more pressing matters. "That wasn't a very nice thing to do to Ron's bear."

"It wasn't a very nice thing for him to break my broom," said Fred, unraveling his arms suddenly.

"That was an accident, Freddie. He didn't mean to break it."

"I told him not to touch it. It wasn't very nice of him to touch it when I told him not to."

"No, no it wasn't," she said, "but he was very sorry about breaking it and he apologized, just like I want you to go apologize to him."

Fred crossed his arms in a very five-year-old way and shook his head.

"Freddie--"

"No."

When he continued to refuse, his mother told him he could stay in the room until he was ready to apologize. Usually time away from his twin was agonizing for Fred, but his hard, hot self-assurance that he had been in the right this time kept him company until it was time for bed and George was able to join him once again.

Fred lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. He listened to George fumble around as he dressed himself in his pajamas before getting into the twin-size bed beside Fred's. Sometimes, when they weren't ready to go to sleep (which was often), they would push the beds together and pretend they were pirates sailing on a ship in uncharted waters during a thunderstorm. This would usually entail one of them getting thrown overboard by the churning waves. The one left on the ship would throw the life persevere into the water and cheer for their twin to swim for it. At this point, the great sea goddess would rise up out of the stormy sea. The child would try as hard as he could, flailing around franticly on the floor as he struggled to reach the pillow his twin had discarded, but the sea goddess would always reach the child, swallowing him and his pillow in her arms. She'd place him into bed, and tell them both to be quite or else she'd whisk one of them away to spend the night with the landlubber, Percival, before disappearing back into the dark, watery depths of the ocean.

But there were no pirate games tonight.

"Fred," said George, and his voice was as serious as a five-year-old's could be, "Ron was really sad."

"He broke my broom."

"He won't play with his bear, Fred."

Fred rolled over in his bed to face his twin.

"Mum fixed it, but he won't play with it. He looked scared of it."

"He's just being a baby." Fred rolled back over, signaling the end of the conversation.

But George had been right; Fred's prank had shaken Ron. He had loved that bear. He had eaten with it, slept with it, played with it, their mom had drawn the line at bathing with it, but it had sat in the room with him . . . and when he hadn't had it, he'd cried. It had been like a best friend to him. He had taken it with him everywhere. But now the bear lay abandoned in the corner where Ron had left it three days ago after his mom had fixed it, and he would not go near it. He gave it fearful looks whenever it was in his range of vision, as though he thought it might suddenly sprout extra legs and eyeballs again.

"Ron," said Fred when he noticed his brother staring at his forsaken playmate, "you want your bear?" Fred picked the bear up and carried it clumsily across the room. He stopped when Ron began to whimper and back away. "Don't cry, Ron. It's your bear." Fred held it out, but his brother began to whimper harder and only when Ron was close to tears did Fred put the bear back in the corner.

Something wasn't right, Fred knew that. He had only wanted to get back at Ron, not scar him for life. And now he felt terrible. He'd been really hurt when his broom had snapped, but he'd be getting a new one for Christmas--he'd asked his mom about it. Ron, on the other hand, had asked for a ball, and a ball just wasn't the same as a bear.

"Mum?" Fred asked her the next day. "Can I change what I said I wanted for Christmas . . . again?"

His mother looked at him. He looked at the floor, grasped his hands behind his back, and started twisting his body from left to right, as five-year-olds sometimes do.

"I thought you wanted a broom, Fred, to replace the one that broke."

Fred shook his head, still twisting back and forth. "I want a teddy bear."

"A teddy bear."

Fred nodded.

"Like Ron's?" she asked.

"Yeah--no." He stopped twisting and looked up at her. "A different bear. A bear with darker fur and different eyes and . . . just a different one, a very different one."

"A different bear," she said. "You're sure, Fred? You don't want a broom?"

"No broom," he said. "A teddy bear. I want a teddy bear."

"Well . . . okay," she said slowly. "As long as you're sure."

Fred nodded.

When Christmas finally did come, Fred was happy to find his mother had listened to him. He pulled his gift out from under the tree and unwrapped a bear completely different from his younger brother's. The bear's fur was black instead of light brown, and its eyes were brown instead of light blue. It was second hand like Ron's bear, but it also had both its eyes instead of just one. One of its ears was missing, but that was fine because Ron's bear had both of them.

He hugged his mom and thanked her for it, saying that it was perfect, and then he dashed upstairs before he had the chance to watch anyone else unwrap their gifts.

He sat in Ron's room and waited for his brother. Ron eventually arrived, awkwardly carrying his new blue bouncy ball in his arms--it was nearly as big as he was. He paused when he entered, and he looked up at his brother curiously.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," said Fred. He walked up to his brother and held out the bear. "It's yours."

Ron looked at the bear, not with fear but with suspicion. "Why?"

"Because I'm your big brother," said Fred, rotating the bear in his hands, "and big brothers are supposed to take care of their younger brother, and I didn't do that. I shouldn't have scared you, Ron. That's not what big brothers are for. And I'm sorry." He held out the bear again.

Ron stared at it for a moment, then he dropped his ball and hugged Fred, the bear squished in between them. "Tank you, Fwed."

Fred held his younger brother until Ron let go of him. The bear slipped from between them and dropped to the ground. Ron grabbed it by the arm and dragged it across the floor like he had done with his old bear, the bouncy ball forgotten by the door. Fred left the room feeling rather pleased with himself.

"Fred, there you are!" George came scampering down the hall toward him. He was holding something behind his back. ". . . What happened to your bear?"

"It's Ron's bear."

George looked confused.

"I broke Ron's bear, so I got him a new one."

"Oh," said George, "well, I got you a new one too." He moved his hands from behind his back and presented Fred with a new broomstick.

"That's mine?" said Fred.

George nodded. "Mom said you changed what you wanted for Christmas, so I changed what I wanted too."

"Why?" asked Fred.

"Well, who am I going to play Quidditch with if you don't have a broom?"

Fred smiled. "Thanks, George."

So Fred took the broom, and he and his twin played a five-year-old's version of Quidditch in the living room under their father's watchful gaze. And when he fell asleep watching them, Fred took his wand and he and George ran off to see what they could charm with it next.

* * *

**By HeidiBug731 **


	23. Moaning Myrtle

**Disclaimer: ****Settings, characters and anything else you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

**Chapter 23**

**Moaning Myrtle **_wants _**a China doll **

Snowflakes fell gracefully down from the sky, twirling majestically. All around Myrtle were rosy cheeks, sniffling noses and laughter; and rows upon rows upon rows of sparkling windows full of toys and books and everything anyone could ever want for Christmas. As any self-respecting nine year old girl would be, Myrtle was mindlessly attracted to the sparkliest of the displays. It happened to be a toy store - decked out with beautiful toy trains and jacks and smiling child mannequins show just _how_fun these toys were. However, when Myrtle got close enough to see, dragging her mum behind her, Myrtle only had eyes for the center piece of the display; a beautiful China doll.

Golden curls fell delicately around her exquisitely carved shoulders and collar bones. Blue eyes stared placidly ahead, eyelashes a smoky, genetically incorrect, long, black. Full, pink cheeks and perfect red lips, pursed ever so slightly. Bosom curving softly down to an impossibly tiny waist, spreading out to wider hips and thinning out once more to perfectly toned legs ending in manicured toes.

And, suddenly, Myrtle knew that she _wanted_that doll. And so Myrtle tucked a chunk of lanky, greasy hair behind her ear, tried to avoid catching her reflection in the mirror (as always), informed her mum that _that_was what she wanted for Christmas and went on her not-so-merry way.

It wasn't until she lay, curled in bed, that night that Myrtle realized that she wanted more then to _own_that doll, she wanted to _be_that doll.

She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and quietly padded to the vanity mirror across her tiny bedroom, lifting one hand up to trace the completely unflattering line of her face.

Swollen, tiny, baggy, grey eyes, usually covered by horn-rimmed glasses, overgrown black eyebrows and paunchy, zit covered cheeks. Thin, dry lips and double chins. If she smiled - she rarely did, simply because it made her look worse - widely spaced, yellowing teeth.

Myrtle was the ugliest thing that she herself had ever seen. Her mother told her she was 'unconventionally beautiful', but Myrtle wasn't_stupid _at least, and she knew better. She could see herself in the mirror quite clearly, thank you very much.

Myrtle frowned, twisting her reflection further before padding miserably back to bed. She made a mental note to tell Mum that she didn't want the doll anymore, come morning.

* * *

**By Fragile Strength **


	24. Ron Weasley

******Disclaimer: Settings, character and other things you recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 24**

**Ron Weasley **_wants_** Tradition**

Ron had two unhappy Christmas memories.

One was when he was four. Aunt Muriel had come to spend the day with the family, as they were the only people kind enough to allow her into their house. The happy atmosphere of the Burrow had immediately been squashed under her nagging. The Weasley children had unwrapped their gifts under her watchful eye - "That wrapping paper can be used again next year, you know!" - and after lunch their usual family games had been replaced with silence, as Aunt Muriel slept off the effects of the Firewhiskey. In Ron's mind, silence had no place at Christmas, and he felt like his whole year had been ruined.

The second was when he was eight. Fred and George had pulled an amazingly intricate prank by sneaking up on Percy, freezing him and putting him at the top of the Christmas tree, dressed as an angel, halo shining merrily above his scowling face. His mum had been going mad with worry. Ron still remembered her scream echoing around the house then the twins admitted their joke. The argument that had followed led to everyone being banished to their respective bedrooms. Ron had snuck downstairs and stared at the pile of unopened presents, listening to the silence. Silence in the Burrow was just wrong.

He was listening to the silence of Shell Cottage now. It was only 10 minutes into Christmas Day, and yet Ron knew this would be the worst one yet.There was a soft knock on the door.

Ron started. "Yeah?"

Bill stuck his head around the door. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Ron repeated, flopping back onto the bed.

Bill cleared his throat. "We're going to bed in a minute. I just wanted to know if you were coming home with us today to see everyone."

Ron felt something tug at his heart as he heard Bill refer to the Burrow as 'home'. He desperately wanted to be there, to hug his family, to watch their faces as they exchanged gifts and to fight over who got the last potato. He wanted a traditional Christmas, with all the trimmings - including his friends.His _best_ friends.

"As if. I'd rather not be abused by my whole family, thanks." Ron snorted moodily.

The doorframe squeaked as Bill leant against it. "No one will abuse you."

"Yeah they will! Imagine the twins if they knew I'd come back without Harry and Hermione! Imagine _Ginny_." Ron cringed as he visualised his sisters fury. "I'm not going."

There was a pause as Bill considered, before he sighed. "Okay. See you in the morning."Ron resumed his staring at the moon as the door closed behind him.As he stared, the Deluminator pulsed faintly in his drawer.

* * *

**By margentbutter**


	25. Rudolophus Lestrange

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters and everything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 25**

**Rudolophus Lestrange **_wants _**love from Bellatrix**

I hate this day. I hate it because it is the first time I will spend it alone. Even in Azkaban I had never been alone. My whole life I have never been alone. I never had to worry. I had my little brother, I had my friends and I had her. I didn't go insane in Azkaban for her. I knew she would never forgive me if the dementors broke me. When I told her this, she smiled and said it was true. I asked her why she never went mad.

_She just smiled and kissed me again._

She charmed me from the very first moment I laid eyes on her. When strode up from the nervous first years not even remotely afraid. She sat on the stool and the hat barely touched her head when it yelled SLYTHERIN! She sat down a little away from me. She made friends quickly. But they were all slightly afraid of the glint in her eye that flashed. Or the smile she took when talking about something dangerous.

_But I and I alone saw the beauty in her smile._

She kissed me for the first time when she was in her third year and I was in my sixth. She would twist and play with me. With her seductive and poison lips she would draw me in then cast me out. I knew her tricks I knew her games. But the way she played them, you were at her mercy the whole time. But then one day in Hogsmede, we stayed way past the time limit. I took her into the snow and I showed her the moon on Christmas Eve.

_Her darkness was mine in those few precious seconds of her lips._

After that I was hers. She knew it as well as I did. My soul belonged to her and her only. I thought about her every minute. She played with my mind. She teased me. She made me fall more and more in love with her. If a veela had stood next to her, I would only see her and her blood red lips. He smile haunted my dreams. I was going crazy every moment I wasn't spending with her.

_But I remembered every forbidden minute I spent with her._

Leaving Hogwarts was hard. I needed her more than she needed me. But just to be able to hold her hand was like a gift. I felt weak. Weak because I knew I loved her. I never let myself tell her this though. She loved the dark lord. And I should love him more than I loved her. But my soul was hers. She didn't know it, but so was my heart.

_To this day I am still hers._

Every time I saw her I realized just how much I missed her. But finally we were together again. We served at the dark lord's side, as his most faithful. Bella rose above me. She became more than I did. But I was never jealous. I was only jealous that she loved the dark lord more than she loved me. Only he was worthy or her love. But I wanted so hard to have what was rightfully his.

_It kills me that they died fighting together when it should have been us._

When I saw her in the courtroom declare that the dark lord was returning and she would gladly go to Azkaban for him. I fell more in love with her than ever before. She was so daring and bloody hell she had guts. She alone out of the 4 of us got up and told the courtroom the truth. I was so lucky to know her. I was lucky she had my last name. I always knew she was proud to go down for what she believed.

_And I was proud to go down with her._

Although I could not look at her in Azkaban. We spoke to each other. It was hard when we were weak but if we fought hard enough we could find our voices. She was in the cell next to mine. We were not allowed to speak with one another. This only made her want to speak more. When she was free the first thing she did was blow up the wall that kept us apart. She wasn't graceful like all the others were. Just vanishing the bars. She smashed the wall into tiny pieces and it was a beautiful honour to be able to hold her and kiss her again.

_Then she shattered my heart like she shattered the wall._

There are no words that could describe the feeling I had when I saw the light leave her beautiful eyes. Her seductive smile freeze on her alluring lips. The look of helplessness as she fell backwards. She was dead. My beautiful girl crumbled. I wanted to go to her. To see if she was okay and to kill every inch of Molly Weasley. But I felt hands holding me back. I was screaming I needed to get to my Love. But Rabastan held me tightly. I forgot about magic. I forgot about everything. But her. I even forgot that I was crying. She was dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

_And my world disappeared in the blink of an eye._

And now I am in a tiny muggle house hiding from the Aurors. I know what day today is. The lights and the trees all down the street are reminder enough. This is what they call Christmas. But such luxuries do not belong to me anymore. I don't know what happened to my friends or my brother. I only know what happened to her. I went to her grave once. They had written all over it. Insulting my girl and all she believed.

_And when they buried her, they buried me with her._

I have been reduced to living like filth just to stay out of Azkaban. I no longer even live in the wizarding world. I hide from my life. I guess I am not really living. Just existing. I suppose you must think I am pathetic. To live so low because of a girl. And I am. But I lost everything that night. Not just her. But I loved her so much. And now I this day. Because everyone is filled with joy and love. I hate this day because I can't share it with her.

_Now she is gone forever and I'll never get to tell her_

_That all I want for Christmas is love from Bella._

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**By Heir to the Blacks**

**Authors Note:** Wow this was hard to write. I've never written anything from Rodolphus's point of view. But he is constantly in my stories so this was something really fun to do. I really enjoyed writing for the challenge, even though it got me writers block. Once I got past it though, I managed to write this story.

The last thing in italics was my sad excuse for a couplet. xD

I hope you enjoyed my story. (If you got this Far. xD)


	26. Dudley Dursley

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

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**Chapter 26**

**Dudley Dursley **_wants _**a camera**_  
_

_The camera can photograph thought. - Dirk Bogarde_

Dudley had always liked Christmas, but this year felt different. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, even though there were many things that made it obvious why it should feel strange this year.

Usually on Christmas, Dudley's parents piled gifts under the tree so high that the star would be in danger of toppling off the top. This year, however, the gifts barely brushed the bottom branches. They had tried best they could to please him, but it was a lot more challenging getting presents for Christmas when you were on the run from an evil wizard chasing you for secrets.

Every Christmas, Dudley's mum would slave in the kitchen for hours, making sure to have all of Dudley's favorites for Christmas dinner. Dudley would drool over the table piled high with turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, biscuits, gravy, corn, green beans, pies of all flavors, treacle, Yorkshire pudding, and all other kinds of delicious food. This year, the Dursleys had to make do with a small turkey, three potatoes, and one cherry pie for dessert.

Why wasn't this the cause for his confusion, you say? Well, that is exactly what Dudley was thinking. Why wasn't he upset that he didn't have mounds of new things or a table creaking with the weight of an inordinate amount of food?

It was because Dudley had realized that what he really wanted for Christmas was for things to slow down. Things had been moving so fast lately, what with moving from one place to another every time Hestia and Dedalus discovered that someone was watching. They had moved around so much that Dudley had lost count of the number of times they packed up the car and scurried to the next "safe" place.

He thought about this a little more and realized that his whole life had been like this. He couldn't remember the last time his mother smiled or the last time his father had laughed. Not the fake kind of happiness that they always wore at Dad's dinners, but the true kind, the happiness brought on through love and hope. It seems as if ever since Harry said that they had to go into hiding, that happiness that they might have had once had gone away.

He couldn't remember what true happiness looked like. He couldn't recall what a lot of things looked like these days. It had been so long since he had been dragged from all things familiar that he struggled to remember what his house looked like, what color the walls of his room were. Sure, he longed for things like his computer and his own bed, but only because they were familiar. He didn't know what to think nowadays, what with all the relocating and his life being thrown upside-down. All he knew was that he wanted something familiar.

They had settled this time somewhere in the countryside; Dudley couldn't recall exactly where. All he knew was that it was as different from his life before as it could be. There were mountains all around, so diverse from the flat suburbs that he had grown up in. He realized that he liked it better, and he wanted to remember it. But how?

He recalled looking through a book of photographs once when he was a young boy. There had been pictures of flowers, waves, people smiling and laughing. There was a photo of mountains, covered in snow. It looked so shockingly similar to where he was at the moment that Dudley had to wonder if the photo was of these mountains.

Dudley was tired of forgetting. He wanted to remember something for once on this godforsaken trip. He wanted a camera for Christmas. He would carry it with him and capture the landscapes of all their travels. He would sneak peeks at his parents, and he would take pictures so he could look back and remember what they looked like when they were happy and sad.

He would take the pictures, and he would look back and remember.

* * *

**By xRosePetalx**

**Staff A/N: **As this could possibly be the last update before Christmas, the staff and members of the Reviews Lounge would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas, and say thank you for all your support so far. **  
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	27. Peter Pettigrew

**Disclaimer:**** Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.**

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**Chapter 27****  
****Peter Pettigrew**_ wants _**popularity**.

Peter Pettigrew is sitting by himself in the common room, listening to the snowball fight outside. He can hear Lily Evans shrieking as her boyfriend - James Potter - throws a snowball at her. He can hear Sirius' barking laugh, Remus' mellow voice, joking around. He feels outside the circle, well, he's _always_ felt outside.

The common room is empty except for the single rat animagus in the corner, sitting on an armchair, sulking, wishing. His heart is filled with that green monster; it's attacking his mind; and he's dying inside.

They like him for his uses; his tiny paw to push in the knot on the Whomping Willow, his knowledge of dark secrets he doesn't like to share. His easy amusement. They like him for those few moments, and then they ignore him. Detest him. He grimaces. They are probably _repulsed_ by him. Peter Pettigrew. Wormtail. Rat.

Sirius, dark and handsome and brave and funny, turned into a dog, large, intimidating. Remus, the werewolf, smart and resourceful and practical. James, the stag, smart and cool and brilliant. And Peter. Peter the rat. Stupid and blockheaded.

He stood up, although it did not make much of a difference in his height, and shuffled to the window that overlooked the grounds. A good foot of snow covered the ground, and he spotted the Marauders quite quickly, plus Evans. _Evans. _He loved her more than James ever would. Didn't Lily understand that? But no. She threw it in his face. She said no. He hated her for that. And hate is more powerful (in his mind) than love.

He imagined James in the common room, the rat, with no fire in the grate, watching Peter and Remus and Sirius and a happy, loving Lily enjoy themselves. He was popular. James was not.

Because all Peter Pettigrew wants for Christmas is a single day of golden popularity.

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**sunny tuesday**


	28. Katie Bell

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

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**

Chapter 28

**Katie Bell **_wants_** Oliver Wood**

The weather was excellent when the Gryffindor Quiddich team took off for practice. One hour later, it was still sunny and the team had done their best practice of the week. The team landed and got off their brooms. They all turned towards their captain to see his reaction to their practise. Oliver Wood looked at all the players staring at him, waiting for his approval. He kept his face unreadable for a minute then he spoke.

"Brilliant practice, everybody. We will beat Slytherin tomorrow, no problem," he said, breaking into a huge grin. The team broke into cheers; the Weasley twins started to pat themselves on the back, which caused the whole team to burst into laughter. The team eventually calmed down after five minutes "So what does everyone want for Christmas this year?" Oliver asked them all. He looked at the players; a lot of them were deep in thought, then the whole team mumbled one of the following: 'broom', 'Quiddich kit', or 'Quiddich Through the Ages'. Oliver smiled as he looked at each of the team members and nodded his head to show to the team that he was listening; out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glance of Katie, and she did not look happy. After five more minutes of smiling and nodding, he stopped then spoke. "Ok, Team, hit the showers." The team trudged off the pitch and headed to the showers. Katie followed the rest of the team in the direction of the showers. She was just about to walk past Oliver when he grabbed a hold of her arm and stopped her; she looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. He looked to check that the team had all left the pitch then he looked down at her. She was still staring at him with bewilderment and a just a hint of annoyance in her eyes as well; he looked in her eyes searching them for something, but he did not find it. He sighed and let go of her arm. She took a step back from him and turned away, then one second later, she turned back and faced him, fire clearly reflected in her eyes.

Oliver took a step back when he saw her turn and face him with fire in her eyes; he gulped, as she looked like a woman possessed. She took a step towards him. Rooted to the spot, bewitched in wonder and amazement, with just a hint of fear, he gulped again. She walked towards him, stood in front of him, looked up at him and stared directly into his eyes; he stared down at her. They both remained silent, just staring at each other, mesmerised.Unable to break his gaze from Katie's, he felt like a spell had been cast over him, forcing him to remain here, gazing into her beautiful eyes. Katie could not lift her gaze from Oliver's; she was locked in his gaze. Oliver took a step towards Katie. They were only inches apart, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel each other's breath on their lips. Katie was suddenly breathless, 'he is going to kiss me, Oliver is going to kiss me,' she thought, a shiver of excitement shuddering down her spine at the thought of Oliver kissing her.

Oliver leaned in towards Katie, but then he suddenly took a step back from her and looked down at his shoes. He looked back up at her and noticed the mixture of hurt and anger reflected in her eyes. "Katie I…" he began, but stopped. He took another step towards her and tried to grab her hand, but she moved it out of his reach. He raked a hand through his hair. "Katie I…" He began again, but stopped again. She glared at him, and remained silent for a few minutes, then pushed past him and walked in the direction of the castle. He did not try and stop her this time. He turned and watched her walk away from him, back to the castle, until she was gone from his view. He raked a hand through his hair again and sighed.Katie slammed her dormitory door shut, flung herself on to her bed and began to hit her pillow, imagining that it was Oliver's face. She stopped mid-punch and broke down in tears; 'What the hell is wrong with him?' she thought to herself. She loved him and had loved him for the last three years. 'Am I that repulsive to him?' she thought to herself but then she remembered the way he had acted; he nearly kissed her. You do not nearly kiss someone who is repulsive to you.

She laughed at the stupid notion that Oliver found her repulsive. Why was he afraid to kiss her? He felt something for her, of that she was sure.She was too busy thinking that she had not noticed the small owl that had flown into the dormitory and landed on her bedpost. The owl gave a little hoot, which pulled Katie out of her thoughts. She walked over to it, took the letter off its leg, stroked it and watched as it flew out of the window. When the owl had vanished from sight, Katie turned her attention to the letter in her hand.She knew it was from him, as she knew his writing and she would recognise it anywhere. She sighed: open it, rip it up, or burn it? These three options repeatedly ran her mind. She sighed again, then took a deep breath, broke the seal on the letter and sat down on her bed to read it. She read the letter through a second time and frowned; he wanted to meet her in the forest in half an hour at their old tree to explain, but did she want to meet him again so soon? She placed the letter on the bed, then debated in her mind as to whether or not she wanted to meet him again so soon, while she was still upset and angry at him.

She had to go; she knew that. She had to gave him time to explain his actions. She looked down at her appearance and glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had already passed. She only had twenty minutes to get ready. She managed to get ready in two. She then stared at herself in the mirror; her hair looked like a bird's nest. She grabbed a brush and quickly tugged it through her hair. Five minutes later, she looked at herself in the mirror again and smiled. She glanced at her watch, gasping at the time. She turned and ran out the door, nearly knocking Alicia Spinnet down on the way out. She shouted a quick apology over her shoulder as she ran down the stairs.

Oliver paced nervously up and down the forest floor, his mind racing with thoughts of what would happen if she never turned up to meet him, what would happen to them and their friendship, but he wanted more than friendship; he wanted to be her boyfriend, but he did not want to spoil what they already had. He stopped pacing, and turned and looked at the old tree: their tree. He remembered when they found it; he was chasing her through the forest because she had lost a bet and would not pay up… he remembered her laughing as she ran further and further away from him, then he remembered that she fell over the tree trunk, as she was so busy looking behind her to see where he was that she had not noticed the tree trunk.

He had stood where he was and laughed at her for a few minutes, but then he went and helped her up, and made her stand against the tree trunk for a minute for support, while he repeatedly asked her if she was okay. She had laughed and said for the thousandth time that she was fine, then she had remarked about how old and secluded this tree looked; then she made the suggestion that it was nice and quiet, and a place where they could come and talk to each other quietly as friends and away from everyone else.He was snapped out of his memories when he heard a twig breaking. He turned and saw Katie walking towards him. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to face his best friend and explain his actions. She stopped in front of him and looked up at him; even looking at him made her breathless.

He looked down at her and remained silent for a few minutes, just looking at her.He took another deep breath the he spoke: "Katie I'm sorry," he said; she nodded at him to continue. " I did not mean to offend you. I…." he began, but was interrupted "Offend me!" she shouted; he saw the fire that had been in her eyes earlier quickly returning, and it was then that he knew he had made a mistake. He had wanted to get this over and done with so they could be on peaceful terms and he had wanted it done quickly. He had wanted it so badly that he had not given any thought to what to say that the words just came tumbling out of his mouth before he thought on them. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid; now he had made things worse. "Katie I apologise for what I just said." He saw that she calmed down a bit because of his apology. He looked at her and stared into her eyes, not breaking eye contact when he next spoke "I will tell you the truth of why I pulled away from you today," he said. She nodded so he knew he could continue. "I did not want to ruin our friendship," he said; he stepped towards her and took her hand. "I did not want to take the risk, I did not want to lose you Katie!" he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She laughed. He looked at her and frowned. "Oliver you could never lose me" she replied. He looked at her, confused "You big stupid fool" she said angrily; she then pulled her hand away from his and started to pace in front of him, cursing him with a really sharp tongue that he did not know she possessed. He frowned at her again. "Katie…" he began. Oliver's voice pulled her out of her cursing; she turned and stood, hand on hip, and glared at him. "Are you that stupid and blind?" she asked him. When he did not answer, it only added to her anger.She walked up to him, stood in front of him, then shoved him in the Chest; she knew she could not budge him, but it helped her, as she was furious with him. She could not believe he could be so stupid and blind; she muttered another curse at him, then she took a deep, calming breath. "I love you Oliver," she whispered. Oliver frowned, as he was sure that Katie had just whispered that she loved him. His ears must be playing tricks on him.

Katie muttered yet another curse inside her head as she waited for his reaction. His face remained blank, "I LOVE YOU OLIVER WOOD, YOU GREAT STUPID FOOL!" she shouted at him; his eyes widened in shock at her words. Oliver was speechless at Katie's words, surprised yet thrilled at her words; he no longer had to avoid her so as not to reveal his feelings to her, as he knew they must be plain for everyone to see when he looked at her or in the way he talked to her. He no longer had to worry about his fears that a relationship would ruin their friendship, because she felt the same way. Kate frowned, as Oliver had been silent for over ten minutes. "Oliver," she said softly, but he did not make any indication that he heard her. Suddenly, Katie grabbed a hold of his head, pulling him out of his thoughts.His expression clearly displayed his shock. "Katie..." he said, but was cut off when she pulled his head down and captured him in a deep and passionate kiss. His mind blanked and he did not worry or think as he just enjoyed the kiss; he then deepened the kiss. They were both too wrapped up in the kiss that they had not realised that it had began to snow. Oliver broke the kiss and looked down at Katie; she looked so beautiful. "I love you, Katie," he said, staring into her eyes. She smiled at him; she knew that he had felt something for her, but she was surprised and happy to hear that he loved her. He returned her smile with one of his own, then he lifted her chin with his hand and pulled her in another passionate kiss.

Five minutes later Oliver broke the kiss. "It's snowing!" Katie exclaimed "I know," he replied, "It was snowing five minutes ago"! he said, then laughed at the expression of surprise on her face; she glared at him, which stopped him laughing. He frowned when he saw her shivering. "It has also gotten a lot colder," he stated as he took off his coat and wrapped it round her. He pushed away her protests, and was glad when she stopped protesting and accepted his coat. "Let's start walking back to the castle," he suggested as he slid his arms around her. She nodded her agreement and snuggled into his chest as they walked back in the direction of Hogwarts. He smiled down at her.Katie had not even dared speak her secret Christmas wish aloud; she had barely even thought about it, but now that she had got it, she knew just how badly she had wanted it. Katie had gotten her secret Christmas wish, and she was extremely grateful that she had, because it was her heart's desire; she had finally gotten Oliver Wood.

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**By Dramione Forever**

**Rabbi - **You don't know how hard it is to edit a PM. Please PM me if there is anything wrong with this one.


	29. Flitwick

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

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**Chapter 29**

**Flitwick **_wants_** Height**

Filius Flitwick was the perfect child. In his first year at Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw. By second year, teachers and students recognized Filius as a gifted wizard. He aced all his tests. He was able to brew up the perfect calming drought without looking at any instructions. He barely went to Hogsmeade at all during his third year, because he was too busy with advanced courses such as Arithmancy and Divintation. He was admired and looked up to by fellow Ravenclaws, and all of the other students. Well, at least most of the other students.

The Slytherins, particularly in his year, always picked on Filius. His genius wasn't the only thing that made him an easy target. They would make fun of his lack of height.

"Whoops, almost stepped on ya there."

"How is it to be so close to the ground Filly?"

By the beginning of his fourth year, Filius became sick of this. He tried every single charm and potion to make himself grow taller. And as smart as he was, he failed every single time. Bad side effects haunted Filius for the first months of fourth year, which included boils, big feet, and frazzled hair.

Winter soon came, which meant loads of homework before the break. Filius was the first one in the common room to start homework, and the last to leave. One particular evening, he was researching information about Muggle Holidays for Muggle Studies. He learned about Santa Claus, Rudolph, and Jack Frost. The next evening, he sat down and wrote a letter.

_Dear Santa,_

_I know you're a busy man. I know that there is a possibility that you could exist. All you need is a good time turner to get to all those houses, and a powerful spell to have those reindeer fly.Anyway, the reason why I am writing is to discuss what I want for Christmas. I want to be normal. Not in a mental sense, but in a physical sense. I have always been made fun of for being short. It's inevitable. I feel like no one respects me since I'm short. If you could just help me somehow find a potion or a spell to make me taller, that would be great._

_Thanks again,_

_Filius Flitwick._

He put the letter inside of his notebook, with the intentions of sending it off later the next day."Hey Filius, you hear about the Dueling Club?" a girl asked him in the common room the next morning.

"No."

"Go to it. It's gonna be in the Great Hall in a couple of hours."

"Okay. See you there."

The Great Hall was cleared out for the Club meeting to be held. A teacher stood off to the sides, moderating the event.

"Two volunteers." the teacher said. "Okay…Frank and, let's see, who else?" the teacher looked for someone other than another Slytherin.

"Flitwick."

"Flitwick." Frank laughed. "Is this a joke?" he asked, as Filius stepped forward.

"When I say go, you can attack. No horrible injuries though. We don't want to send anyone to the infirmary."

"Don't worry Filly, I'll be easy on you. You're at a disadvantage." Frank was able to say as the teacher looked away.

As they bowed, Filius couldn't help but be angry. Frank was making fun of him once again, in front of the entire school. What did he do to deserve this? He was ready to make him pay.

"Ready and go…" the teacher yelled.

"Engorgio!" Frank cast the spell on Flitwick.

"Finitie!" Flitwick retaliated. He then finished him off with the bat bogey hex.

The students laughed as Frank was taken down. Frank's friends were dumbfounded of how Filius defeated him. He smiled in his glory.

As Filius went to do his homework the next night, he discovered a letter. He took the letter, read it over quickly, and chuckled. He didn't care how tall he was anymore. He threw the letter in the common room fireplace, and retreated upstairs early to bed.

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**By KristyT23**


	30. Narcissa Malfoy

**Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

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Chapter 30

**Narcissa **_wants _**security**

**A l o n e **

_(because everyone knows how she hates to be)_

The fire dances in the chimney merrily, casting shadows upon the silk emerald carpet.

"It's so pretty," Narcissa thinks, but she would never word it.

Her hand quivers slightly as she writes.

_Dear Santa,_

The penmanship is not hers – it is shaky and upright, Druella would be ashamed.

She tears it up into shreds, and sets a new piece of parchment on the glass coffee table.

The fire hurls a glow across her pale, pale face – it is orange and yellow and happy – not at all right for her.

_Dear Santa,_

She rolls her eyes. How childish she is being! If Bellatrix was here, she'd slap her little sister, and scold her for believing in great magic other than the Dark Lord. If Andromeda was here… well, Narcissa doesn't want to think about that. Andromeda is a blood traitor, therefore she cannot be thought about. Andromeda has cut ties with the Black family; therefore she is no longer her sister.

She cannot stand to think about it, anyway. Andromeda was always the nicer one, the one who shared secrets and spells with her. Bella was always _so_ busy with her magic, experimenting with her wand and potions.

Thinking again, she raises her quill.

_Dear Santa,_

But the letters she longs to write would not flow through her long beautiful fingers, would not be said through her full, luscious pink lips.

(Black life has frozen her delicate fingers, silenced her petty words.)

Gone. The word hit her like a Crucio.

That's what her parents were, buried deep in the ground – royal ground, in fact, the Graveyard of Black. They would never again sit stiffly at the dinner table and lecture her posture and manners, or criticise on her choice of robe, or even sniff slightly at her forgotten-to-brush-but-nevertheless-still-lovely hair.

That's where Bellatrix was, away from her and at the Dark Lord's side, probably kissing the hems of his robes and feeding him firewhisky, she thinks bitterly, but then quickly stops herself for thinking so – Bellatrix is a true Black, pure and loyal to the end. Even if she didn't love Rodolphus or have any children to bear the name, or even stay to scourgify the house in the name of Black, Bella is always right.

That's where Andromeda is, hiding from the Blacks, no longer one herself. Narcissa remembers the day she eavesdropped on her parents, that Andromeda was no longer going to return, that she had married a Mudblood named Tonks, that she was a disgrace and no longer a Black. She had felt pain, hot-burning anger that day for her sister, but now she could do nothing but long for Andi's homecoming.

That's where Sirius and Regulus and Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion and everyone else who had always been near her were. Sirius was in hiding, Regulus had disappeared, Walburga was in the hospital, and Orion dead.

She stands up, and walks to the fireplace. "Well, I guess it's just you and me now," she thinks, to the flames, sighing.

The fire flickers and dies.

(She is all alone)

She longs to feel her mother's presence, demanding and yelling, but nevertheless there for her. She longs to hear Bellatrix shrieking at her, and Andromeda whispering in her ear. She longs to see Sirius pulling pranks on Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion, see Regulus perceive Sirius's every move.

(But no one is there)

All she wants is people surrounding her, taking care of her as they always did since she was a child. If only she could put it in words.

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**By Avindara Nirvene**


	31. Albus Potter

Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

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**Chapter 31**

**Albus Potter **_wants_** a photo frame**

"A picture frame?" Harry Potter leaned against the counter in his kitchen, trying to wrap his mind around what his wife had just told him.

"Yep," she said, continuing to wave her wand at the dishes in the sink.

"Really, Gin? A picture frame?"

"A picture frame."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. With just one week until Christmas, Ginny had asked the kids for their wish lists today, and while their oldest and youngest children had presented nice, long lists, the list of their middle child had contained just one item. A picture frame.

Nearly nine years ago, Albus Severus Potter had been born just before midnight on December 23rd, and that was what appeared to be causing the problems now.

"But, his birthday list–" Harry started.

"His birthday list was the usual length," Ginny told him, now levitating dishes over his head into their cupboards. "It's just his Christmas list that's been shortened."

Harry frowned. "I don't suppose we could just . . . shift some?" he ventured, but Ginny shook her head.

"No. I don't know where he gets it, but that boy is very particular, fastidious, to use Hermione's word. Birthday presents are for his birthday while Christmas presents are for Christmas." She turned then, and leaned against the kitchen table, mimicking Harry's stance as she faced him. "And I was told as much when I tried to talk to him about it." When Harry frowned again, she came over to him and put her arms around him. He returned the embrace distractedly.

"He didn't give you any reasons –" he started, but was silenced by Ginny's hand on his arm.

"Harry, we may have to accept the fact that this really is all he wants for Christmas," she said gently.

Harry shook his head. "There has to be a reason," he told her. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"I doubt it will do any good," Ginny warned.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Harry repeated.

"He's in bed," Ginny pointed out. Harry smiled, remembering the light he'd seen shining from under Al's door several nights.

"He won't be asleep," he said with confidence, kissing her quickly.

"Well, good luck, then. I hope you get farther than I did!" she called as he headed for the stairs.

At the second floor landing, he turned and gently opened the door to his youngest son's room. Poking his head inside, he smiled, amused. "Al," he said softly, "if you want people to think you're asleep, you can't squint your eyes shut."

The boy who looked so like him opened his eyes and grinned sheepishly, pushing himself up on his elbows as Harry came in and sat on the edge of his bed. "Is there something you need, Dad?" Al asked him.

"Oh . . . just to talk," Harry said, trying to sound offhand. "So, did you give Mum your Christmas list today?"

"Dad," Al said, straightforward as he ever was, "you and Mum forgot to Silencio the kitchen. I know why you're up here."

Harry smiled sheepishly and gave a small nod to Al, acknowledging the pretense. "Okay, you caught me," he admitted. Then he paused. "Why, Al?" he finally asked.

"I can't tell you that," Al said slowly, looking down. Harry's eyebrows shot up in mild surprise.

"You can't tell me?" he repeated. Al shook his head, still refusing to look at him. "Al?" Harry said, and waited for the boy to meet his eyes. After a long moment, he did. "If you can't tell me why you want a picture frame, can you tell me why there's only one thing on your list?" he asked, trying a different approach.

Al was quiet for a long time before he answered. "Because I get so many presents for my birthday. It isn't fair for me to get twice as many as everyone else."

Harry almost smiled in relief. Maybe this whole thing would be easier to resolve than he had thought.

"But you don't, Al, not really," he said, trying to explain. "James and Lily get those extra presents, too, just at a different time of year."

"And if my birthday was at a different time, I'd probably ask for more for Christmas," Al said. "But I don't need so much all at once." Harry considered that, then switched gears again.

"We could split up your birthday list–" his father started, but Al shook his head emphatically.

"No. Those are birthday gifts. I don't want them for Christmas," he said firmly, and Harry had to give a silent nod to Hermione. Fastidious really had been a good word for Al. It was only in instances like this that his normally passive son showed his Weasley and Potter stubbornness. "Besides," Al said, continuing, "Christmas is about giving to other people, isn't it, Dad?" Harry smiled softly at the statement.

"Yes, it is, Al," he agreed. "As your mother and I want to do for you." Al looked up at him.

"Well, you have my list," he said simply. Harry looked away. Somehow, he had known it would come to this. One couldn't argue with an eight-year-old, who would always and forever be unshakeable in the belief that his or her logic was irrefutable. Maybe Ginny was right, he thought as he sat there. Maybe, hard as it would be, he would simply have to accept this quirk his son had suddenly developed.

"What kind of picture frame?" he finally asked. Al grinned.

"A big one," he said. "But just a plain one, like the Muggles have."

"All right, then," Harry said with a smile, standing. "G'night, Al," he said, leaning down to kiss Al's forehead.

"Night, Dad." Harry walked out, shutting the door softly behind him, then headed back downstairs where Ginny was waiting for him.

"Well?" she asked. Harry sighed and shrugged.

"Do you even know where we can _buy_ a picture frame?" he asked his wife. She laughed softly.

"Told you so," she said.

Three days later, Ginny took Lily to finish up the Christmas shopping, leaving Harry and the boys alone at home. The last time Harry had checked, James and Al had been coexisting peacefully in the sitting room down the hall from his study. With a little more than ten years of parenting behind him, Harry knew this was unlikely to last long. He had fallen into the habit of periodically setting aside his work to listen for an appropriate noise level – not loud enough that he had to go break anything up, but not quiet enough to be suspicious. Satisfied with the commotion James seemed to be making with whatever had been in the package Fred had sent him this morning, Harry returned to the addressing of the family Christmas cards, a task that was, he mused, really somewhat easier the Muggle way, magic or not.

A few moments later, however, he put down his quill as a shout echoed through the house.

"Give it back, James!" Sighing, Harry pushed his chair away from the desk and headed for the sitting room. When Al's shouts turned into a small explosion and an incoherent cry of rage, he began to hurry.

Upon entering the sitting room, Harry froze in momentary shock at the scene before him. Al, his youngest son, his quietest child, his passive peacemaker, had knocked his brother to the ground and was now pummeling every inch of the older boy that he could reach with both his fists, screaming and sobbing while a small book smoldered on the ground beside them.

Harry crossed the room in three strides and pulled Al bodily off of James. "What is going on?" he demanded, fixing each of his sons with an angry gaze. He expected Al to quiet and explain himself. He was not at all prepared for the response he got. Al barely seemed to notice that his father had entered the room.

"I hate you!" he screamed at James, who was still on the ground, looking dazed and bewildered. His lip was bleeding and one eye had already begun to swell. "You always ruin _everything_ and now you've ruined _Christmas_! I hate you! I _hate you_! I wish I'd never even _had_ a brother!" And with another strangled sob, he grabbed the ruined book and ran from the room. Not even Harry's angry shout of "Albus Severus!" brought him back.

Frowning at the implications of what he'd just witnessed, Harry knelt beside his older son and pulled out his wand. "Hold still," he said.

"He _hit_ me," James said in disbelief.

"Yes, he did," Harry said, still frowning as he performed two simple healing charms before handing his son the pair of glasses that had gone flying as the fight had begun. "Would you like to tell me why?" he asked, frowning at his son.

James stared up at his father in open-mouthed shock for a moment before his eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he shoved his glasses roughly back onto his face. "If I'd hit Al, I'd be locked in my room from now until New Year's, but he hits me and _I'm_ still the one getting punished?" he accused belligerently.

If Harry was phased by the accusation, he didn't show it. Continuing to frown down at James, he calmly said, "I don't recall punishing you, James. I do recall asking what happened, a question I would like you to answer."

"It wasn't my fault!" he shouted defensively. "I didn't know it would do that! And anyway, he overreacted. It was just a stupid book!"

"James," Harry said, his tone warning. "I am losing my patience. The story. Now." His son met his eyes defiantly for a moment before looking away.

"It was just some stuff that Fred sent me," he said defensively. "He said there was a cool effect on the wand, and I tried it out, that's all! I didn't know it would catch Al's book on fire!"

"I see," Harry said, looking sternly at his son. "And, tell me, James. Did Al volunteer his book for your experiment, or did you, perhaps, commandeer it without permission?" The red tinge on James' face was more than answer enough. "So," Harry said, sitting back on his heels. "Let me tell you what is going to happen now." James glanced up at him sullenly. "You are going to give me everything your cousin sent you this morning. All of it. You may get it back after Christmas, you may not. I don't know. Then, you are going to go upstairs where you will do one of two things. Your first option is apologizing to your brother for stealing and ruining his book. Your second option is not apologizing to him and spending time in your room until you rethink that decision. And if your brother's book was damaged beyond repair, you will replace it."

"Dad, that's totally unfair!" James yelled. "Al hit me!"

"Yes," Harry said. "And he and I will be having a talk about that. But you took something that wasn't yours and you destroyed it. I will not allow theft or senseless destruction in this family anymore than I will allow violence. Al was in the wrong, yes. But so were you. And you will apologize to your brother or you will stay in your room until you have decided to do so. Do you understand me?" James glared sullenly at his father and did not reply. Harry held James' gaze. "I said, do you understand me, James?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

"Fine, whatever!" James said, kicking a box toward Harry before storming upstairs into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Harry sighed and stood. He would worry about the prank package later. He would also, he thought ruefully, have to have a little chat with his brother-in-law about adding "cool effects" to his fake wands and then letting them fall into the hands of mischievous nine-year-old boys. But at the moment, he had a much larger problem to worry about.

Upstairs in his room, Al sat hunched in the corner of his bed, knees pulled to his chest, angry tears still streaming down his face. The moment Harry had pushed open the door and called his son's name softly, Al released an angry torrent of words that left him breathless and gulping for air.

"I won't!" he said through his tears. "I don't care what you say to me, and I don't care what you do to me! I won't forgive him and I won't apologize to him because I'm not sorry! I'm not!"

"Then we have a problem," Harry said quietly, coming to sit on the edge of Al's bed. "Because I can't just excuse your behavior, Al. You hit your brother. You hurt him."

"I don't care!" Al choked out wildly. "I don't care! And I wish we didn't have magic, either, so he'd just have to live with it!"

"Al!" Harry said sharply, shocked at his son's uncharacteristic behavior. "Look at me," he said sternly. "_Look at me_," he repeated when Al refused to meet his gaze. Slowly, sullenly, Al's green eyes found his. "There is nothing, _nothing_, that _anyone_ can do or say to you that justifies an attack. _Nothing_. I cannot and will not excuse physical violence. Do you understand me?" Al's eyes shone with tears and defiance.

"He deserved it," he whispered fiercely, his chin quivering. Harry beheld his son with a hard and unyielding gaze until Al finally looked away.

"You will apologize to your brother," Harry said in a voice that left no room for argument. "I know that you will, because you will not leave this room until you have, even if that means spending your birthday in here and Christmas day as well. Make no mistake about this, Al." He looked at his son, who would not return that gaze, but instead stared straight ahead, stubbornly trying to ignore fresh tears. In his hands he held what remained of a small leather book, one now-smudged finger unconsciously tracing the charred edge, as if the action might make it whole again. Harry softened at the sight. "Al," he said more gently, reaching across the bed to touch his son's shoulder. "Let's have done with this. Make amends and put it behind us." Al wrenched away, the tears he couldn't overcome falling down his cheeks.

"_No_," he whispered fiercely. "I won't."

Harry sighed and stood. Though he knew what had to be done now, it still pained him to say. "I had hoped you would be the better person in this argument," he said, his voice hardening. "But it appears that my trust was misplaced." At the threshold of the room, he paused then forced himself to make one last remark. "I really am very disappointed in what I have seen from you today."

And then he left, after casting the two spells to keep his sons in their rooms.

That night, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, elbows braced against his knees, chin resting on his hands, staring into his open closet. There, leaning against the back wall, stood a large, handsome oak picture frame. Harry stared at it, lost in thought. This, this frame, this was all Al wanted for Christmas.

His thoughts wandered to the book that had been destroyed that afternoon. If only he knew what was in it that was so important to his youngest son! He had a feeling that the picture and the book were tied somehow, that Al's Christmas wish and his behavior today were linked together, in some kind of indecipherable riddle. And Harry had never been one for riddles.

But his middle child was one. There had been times when he and Ginny had stared at one another, wondering whose he could possibly be, because there was no way he was theirs. If he hadn't looked so much like Harry . . .

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to make sense of things in his mind. _My youngest son asked for a picture frame for Christmas, and today he attacked his brother over a small, mysterious book. He's turned suddenly secretive and defiant. And I haven't the first clue as to why. _

Caught up in his musings, he barely registered that his wife had entered the room until she was beside him, her hand in his own.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"None," she said, shaking her head. Harry sighed more heavily. Al was still refusing to apologize to his brother. He had chosen to forego supper rather than utter that apology, though the threat of missing a meal and humbled James enough to make the apology.

"And he will not tell you why?"

"No," Ginny said. "The only thing I got out of him was an item to add to his Christmas list."

"Oh?" Harry asked, intrigued, hoping that this might shed some light on the mystery Al had become.

"Yes," she said with a hint of a smile. "One less brother. A request I made often enough as a child."

"And what did you tell him?" Harry asked.

"The same thing my mother always told me," she said, the smile coming out in full force now. "'I was gifted with seven beautiful children, and if you were to have one less brother, then I would lose one of those children, and you'd not put your mother through that, would you?'" Ginny's smile faltered for just a moment before she went determinedly on. "I of course said three instead of seven, but the basic message was the same."

Harry nodded and looked away, the unanswered questions gnawing at him. A moment later, he felt a sharp pain on his shoulder. "Ow!" he said, whirling to glare at his wife, who had just punched him and was showing no remorse for it.

"You were brooding," she said. "Stop it." Rubbing his shoulder, Harry gave her a wry look. She put her arms around him, embracing him from behind, and kissed his neck. "What's bothering you, Harry?" she asked in a gentler tone.

Harry sat silently for a moment, trying to put it all into words. "I'm concerned about how I handled things this afternoon," he admitted.

"Whatever for?" Ginny asked, pulling back slightly to peer at her husband. "I thought you handled it all brilliantly, Harry."

"Do you think I was too hard on Al? Not hard enough on James? James accused me of always punishing him more, and Al is the one who hit him." Ginny smiled softly at him.

"Harry," she said, sitting so she could look him in the eye. "James may not have found your punishment fair, but you and I both know better. For James, nothing could have been worse than losing his trinkets, his new pranks. But Al? Al faces his father's censure and disappointment, both of which will affect him far more than loss of privilege or possession. My guess is, come morning, he'll be more than ready to apologize. Your son adores you, Harry, and he still thinks you hung the stars." Harry smiled without humor and looked away.

"Yes. And I sent him to bed without supper," he said quietly. Ginny frowned, touched him arm, and forced him to look at her.

"One missed meal won't hurt him, Harry, or make him feel that you love him any less." When Harry tried to look away again, she reached for his face and turned it back to her own. "It doesn't make you like them," she said softly, and Harry stared at her in momentary surprise, then relaxed into a smile.

"How is it you know me so well?" he asked her softly, taking his wife's hand. She smiled mischievously at him.

"Oh, Mr. Potter," she said. "I'll have you know that I had quite the crush on you when I was younger, and I made everyone I met tell me any and every little thing they knew about you. I am quite an expert." Harry smiled.

"I knew I was being stalked," he joked.

"Quite right," she agreed, and kissed him. "Besides, I think today's events will eventually be quite beneficial."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I do. First of all, Al has proven to his brother that there is a line, and that he can defend himself if that line is crossed. You can bet James won't be making _that_ mistake again." Harry considered this, then nodded, and she went on. "Secondly, once he gets over the embarrassing fact that his little brother beat him in a fight, James will respect the fact that his little brother beat him in a fight." She smiled, then said, "Oh, yes, Harry. I shouldn't be at all surprised if today's events lead to a new alliance. And with James' penchant for mischief and Al's clever creativity . . ."

Harry let out a groan as Ginny's point was realized. "They'll be unstoppable," he moaned. Ginny laughed.

"Too right! And there's not a thing you can do to stop it, either."

"They'll be terrors," Harry said, raising his eyes heavenward. "No place will be safe."

"Yes, and it's all your fault," Ginny said, kissing him on the cheek. "You're the one who chose to marry me and combine Marauder genes with Weasley genes."

Harry grinned. "You're right; that was my mistake," he said before kissing her. "Why a picture frame, do you think?" he asked her then, for probably the fiftieth time. She threw her hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

"Who can say? Your son is a mystery. Now come to bed, love."

"In a while, perhaps," he said, standing even as she stretched across the bed. "I have some work to finish up first."

"Fine," she said. "I'll just languish up here, all alone." She looked up at him coyly.

"Don't tempt me," he said with a smile, pulling the door closed as he left the room. His smile disappeared as he passed Al's door, through which small, hurt sniffles still filtered. With a pained sigh, Harry continued down to his study, where he hoped without much expectation for his thoughts to be diverted from what his son wanted for Christmas and all that had happened that day.

True to Ginny's prediction, midway through the next morning, there was a knock on Harry's study door. He looked up from Dudley's Christmas card to see his wife's head poked through the doorway. "Your son has something he'd like to say to you," she said before raising her eyebrows at him, as if to add a silent, _See?_

A much humbled Al was ushered into the room, where he hung by the door, staring at the carpet and refusing to come any closer. Ginny leaned down and whispered something in his ear, then shut the door softly behind her.

"I apologized to James," Al said, so softly that Harry could hardly hear him.

"So I see," Harry said. Then silence descended on the room as Harry wondered what on earth he could say. But it was Al who spoke next.

"Are you terribly angry with me still?" he asked, and Harry could hear the tears in his voice.

"Please come here, Al," Harry said gently, holding out his hand. After a long pause, Al crossed to his father gingerly. When his son stood before him, Harry placed one hand under his hin and raised the boy's face to his own. "I am no angry with you in slightest, Al," he said softly. "You have done as I asked you to do."

Harry expected these words to comfort his son, but they didn't. Instead, Al looked away, tears filling his eyes.

"No, I didn't," he whispered. "I apologized to him, but I – I didn't forgive him," he said, then risked a glance at his father. "I can't," he whispered fiercely. "I can't." Harry held back a sigh.

"Forgiving people who have hurt you is difficult," he said. "It will be enough for me if you promise that you will try."

Harry watched Al's thought process flicker across his face before he finally answered, "I promise."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Al, will you not tell me what was so important about that book?" Al's face betrayed his distress. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he couldn't bear to lie to his father, but also couldn't bear to see more disappointment from him. "Al, I might be able to fix it," Harry said softly, and watched Al's eyes fly open, "but I _have_ to know what was inside," he finished, warning. Al's face fell.

"I can't," he whispered.

"It's okay," Harry said in reassurance. "It's okay, Al. Now, one more thing before you go. Is there anything else you'd like to add to your Christmas list?" Al's head snapped up, his eyes betraying momentary panic. This reaction puzzled Harry, who clarified his question. "Like replacement for your book."

"Oh," Al said, calming visibly. "No. You can't replace it," he said. Harry frowned.

"What do you mean, Al?"

"It was just a . . . just a blank book," Al said with a heavy sigh. "Aunt Hermione gave it to me. You can't replace what was in it."

Understanding dawned for Harry. If Al had lost something of _his _creation . . . well, it didn't justify his behavior, but it did serve to explain it. "So there's nothing?" Harry asked again. Al hesitated.

"No," he finally said. "Just the frame."

"Okay." And his son turned and headed for the door. On the threshold, however, he paused and turned back.

"Dad?" he said quietly. Harry looked up.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and he was Al again, not the impassioned stranger Harry had seen the past day.

"I accept your apology," Harry said with a smile. Al nodded and headed out.

_Good_, Harry thought, with a heavy mental sigh. _That's done with. If only I knew why he wanted that frame . . . _

The rest of the day leading up to Al's birthday passed without incident, as did the majority of his birthday itself. There had been little commotion between the boys and Harry noted with a resigned eye that the respect Ginny had predicted did indeed seem to be forming.

This was especially evident when, at the end of Al's gift opening, James shuffled forward with a poorly wrapped package in his hands. "Here," he mumbled. "This is for you, Al." Meticulous as ever, Al opened the wrappings. Then, before anyone had a chance to see what was inside, he had given a happy shout and thrown his arms around his brother. James pushed him away with a grimace, but Harry could tell it was a half-hearted attempt at best.

"Is it all here?" he asked as Harry moved forward to see what was nestled in the paper.

It was a small book, singed around the edges, but decidedly and rather impressively, considering its state a few days ago, whole.

"Should be," James said, looking at the ground as Al thumbed through the pages, all grins.

"James, how did you . . ." he asked in wonder.

"Yes, James," Harry said. "How did you?"

"Took it to Uncle George, and he knew how to set it right," James muttered, still looking at the floor as a blush crept around his neck. "Fred's right miffed at me, though. His dad didn't know he'd nicked that stuff." Harry couldn't help smiling.

Then Teddy had appeared, and his arrival was greeted with immense enthusiasm from both Harry's sons. The three boys had escaped immediately into Al's room, engaged in some activity that was quite secret, but, as Harry was assured by his godson, nothing at all to worry about. Harry was less sure, but as this didn't seem likely to dissolve into another fistfight, he was willing to let it be.

Although he couldn't help but wonder if Al's secret activity had anything at all to do with the picture frame currently in his closet, waiting to be wrapped.

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear and much as it had for the past six years or so in the Potter house. Lily was the first to awaken and run down the upstairs hallway, pounding on everyone's doors and insisting that they get up for Christmas. Al and James pretended to grumble, all the while being secretly glad that _someone_ was going about the business of making sure presents were opened at a reasonably early hour.

Harry and Ginny took great delight in getting ready for the day with deliberate slowness, making their children wait as long as they could, met as usual with happy shrieks and complaints of, "Da-ad!" after Harry suggested that maybe, this year, presents should wait until _after_ breakfast.

It was as if all the antipathy in the house that week had been well and truly forgotten. Harry and Ginny watched, smiling, as their children exclaimed happily over the candy, fruit, and Christmas crackers that Father Christmas had left in their stockings.

Then Harry began to pass out the gifts under the tree, only just that moment noting that there was no "To Dad, From Al" package there. Determined not to let his puzzlement show, he reached for the large package leaning against the wall.

"Happy Christmas, Al," he said as he handed over the wrapped frame. Al's face lit up as he tore into the paper with much more wild enthusiasm than usual. He grinned when he saw the frame.

"Perfect," he said, and then he stood and tore out of the room.

"Al!" both his parents called after him, but they were met with, "I'll be right back! Don't wait for me!"

And, true to his word, a few minutes later, he returned, breathing hard and carrying with him a hastily wrapped gift that looked suspiciously similar to the gift _he_ had just unwrapped. "Happy Christmas, Dad," he said, holding out the gift. Harry took it, but did not open it. He stared at his son, comprehension dawning as all the clues of the past week began to fall into place. He couldn't believe it. Surely, _surely_, his son wasn't about to . . .

"Al . . ." he started, but his son didn't let him get far.

"Open it," he insisted. Slowly, Harry removed the wrapping paper and turned over the frame he had just presented to his son.

Inside it was a painting, done by a capable, if inexperienced, hand. Harry felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he looked down at the portrait of his family, who all waved up at him, smiling, framed by the one thing his son had asked for for Christmas. "Al," he whispered, but found that he didn't know what to say. He swallowed and tried again. "Al, did you do this?" he asked.

Al nodded. "Yes. Well, Teddy put the charm on it. And James helped paint the background yesterday. But I drew it. Do . . . do you like it, Dad?" he asked, suddenly shy and uncertain.

"Yes," Harry whispered, handing the painting to Ginny and pulling his son to him in a hug. "Yes, I like it very much." Then he pulled away and looked at his son. "I didn't know you liked to draw, Al. How didn't I know that?" Al shrugged, embarrassed.

"I don't know. It's just something I . . . like to do. It's fun. And Aunt Hermione said I was pretty good."

"Aunt Hermione knows?" Harry repeated. Al nodded.

"I told you; she gave me the book." Harry nodded, making a decision right then and there.

When the painting had been hung over the fireplace and the paper had all been cleared from the sitting room and the kids were settled at the table for Christmas breakfast, Harry grabbed his cloak and headed for the door, passing Ginny on the way out.

"Harry Potter, where do you think you're going?" she demanded, hands on hips.

"I have something urgent I have to do," he said.

"On Christmas?" she asked, incredulously.

"I'm calling in a few favors," he said, coming over and kissing her on the cheek. "The kids still have to pack. I'll meet you at the Burrow." Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, but relented, knowing her husband would be good to his word.

With a pop, Harry Apparated into the front yard of the Burrow, a small brown-paper-wrapped parcel in his hand, just as his family began to mount the steps to the house.

"Al," he called, beckoning his youngest son over to him. "We'll be in in a minute," he called to Ginny, who nodded and took Lily and James inside. Al trotted over and looked up at his father, curious and waiting.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Can you tell me why now?" he said, kneeling on the cold ground so he was of a level with his son. "Why you gave back to me the one thing you asked for for Christmas?"

Al looked down, scuffing the ground with his foot. "I couldn't get the frame by myself. I didn't have enough, but I wanted it to be framed."

"All right, but . . . why the picture? And why only ask for the frame?"

"Because," Al said, and Harry could see he was having trouble putting it into words. "I overheard you talking to Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione a few weeks ago. When they asked you what you wanted for Christmas. I shouldn't have listened, but I didn't know what to get you, and I thought you might give me some ideas." He glanced to his father for forgiveness of this small transgression before continuing. "You said you already had what you wanted most. You had us, and a family, and that that was what was most important. And I thought of all the things I was going to ask for, and I felt guilty."

Harry smiled softly. "My comment wasn't meant to make anyone feel guilty," he murmured.

"I know," Al said. "But I started to think that I didn't really _need_ all the stuff I was going to ask for, and that I should focus Christmas more on what's really important. Family, and the people who love us. That's when I decided to paint the picture. That's what was in the book," he said, and, true to Weasley fashion, his ears grew pink as he looked down, somewhat ashamed. "When I saw it catch fire . . . I just got so mad at James, because I'd worked so hard on those drawings, and I couldn't do them over in just five days, and I was so afraid I wouldn't have anything to give you on Christmas." Harry nodded, finally understanding. "But anyway," Al said, continuing. "That's why I only asked for the frame. It was the only thing I needed to give you your gift."

"Well, I have something for you," Harry said, holding out the small parcel.

"But, Dad–" Al started to protest, but Harry raised a hand.

"Just open it," he said. Al did. When the small book was unwrapped, Al turned it over and flipped through the blank pages, smiling. "I saw that yours was getting kind of full," Harry said. "Not to mention a bit blank around the edges. So I thought you could use a new one. Do you like it?" he asked, watching his son's face carefully. Then Al grinned and threw his arms around his dad.

"Yeah. I like it very much," he said. "Thank you, Dad."

"Thank you, Al," Harry said. "Shall we go in?" he asked, gesturing to the house. Smiling, Al nodded, and Harry and his son headed for the front door of the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley stood waiting.

"There you are!" she called, waving. "Come in, come in out of the cold!" She enveloped Al in a hug. "Good to see you, love! Did you get what you wanted for Christmas?"

"Yeah," Al said, looking back at his father with a smile. "I got exactly what I wanted."

* * *

**by Realmer06**


	32. Arthur Weasley

Disclaimer: Settings, characters, and anything else you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas.

* * *

**Chapter 32**

**Arthur Weasley **_wants_** Molly Prewett**

Arthur Weasley shuffled into the kitchen at the Burrow, clad in his slippers and pajamas. It was Christmas morning and the kids and grandkids would be arriving in a few hours. He couldn't believe that his grandchildren were at the age where they were talking of marriage. He chuckled as he thought of Ron's reaction to Rose being engaged to Scorpius Malfoy. There had once been a time where he would've reacted in the same manner. Now, though, he just found it ironic and amusing.

Molly would be over the moon. She would be making notes on things to discuss with Rose about the wedding right now. At some point, she would've taken an embarrassed Rose aside for talk of the wedding night and what to expect while he would talk to Scorpius and threaten his life if he ever hurt her. He still planned to do that part, of course, though he imagined Scorpius had already gotten plenty of threats on his life from Ron.

Arthur rose from his seat at the table and placed his teacup in the sink. It was a very mundane action, but it brought on a wealth of emotion. He braced his arms on the sides of the sink, squinting his eyes in a failed attempt hold back tears, which broke through the barricade and dripped into the empty teacup, soaking the grinds. He couldn't believe that she was gone. She had simply gone to sleep and never woken up.

_Arthur stretched his arms over his head as the sunlight peeked between the curtains and danced across his eyelids. He shielded them with his hand as he opened his eyes and turned to look at his wife. "Wake up, Mollywobbles," he whispered in her ear. She didn't stir, which was unusual. In fact, it was unusual for him to be awake before she was._

"_Molly? Sweetie?" he asked, thinking she was playing a game they had played once. He decided to play along because the prize for that game had been nothing short of amazing._

_In the spirit of the game, he leaned down and kissed her lips. They were cold._

_The game was over as quickly as it had began._

"_Molly!" Arthur cried as he got on his knees, leaning over her, stroking her face and hair. "Molly?" he whispered as he shook her gently, his tears landing on her face making her appear to be crying as well. _

_He laid her back on the bed gently and lay his head on her chest. "No, no, no" he said helplessly. "You can't do this, Molly. I can't tell the children! How do I tell them? You have to tell me!" He closed his eyes, willing his mind to believe it was just a nightmare. "You have to wake me up Molly. Say something!" he exclaimed, knowing he made no sense. Then he was silent. He had no idea how long he had laid there. Eventually, he got up, went down to the family room, and floo'd all the children. _

_He wanted them all gathered in the kitchen before he would answer the question they all had asked "Where's mum?" Ginny, the first to arrive, had seemed to have figured it out already and worried her lip between her teeth while looking around the table at her brothers. _

_He had just put his teacup in the sink when Ginny said, "She's gone, isn't she?" He turned to them and, as his face crumpled into tears and Ginny rushed to hold him, he nodded._

Arthur shook his head and wiped his face with his sleeve. He had to be strong today. He was the dad and the granddad; it was his job to be strong. So, he went upstairs, showered, got dressed, and sat down on the sofa in the living room to wait. He waved his wand and put it on a station that Molly had loved because it played Celestina Warbeck all Christmas day.

Within the hour, the house was filled with talk, wonderful smells wafted in from the kitchen, and Arthur could have sworn he saw Molly in the corner, dancing and smiling at him.

* * *

**By Sometimesyoufeellikeaknut**

**A/N: **Originally I was going to write a humorous story about how he had a crush on her at Hogwarts, but this little plot bunny wouldn't leave my head. I lost my dad this year, so having an empty space at Christmas is something I understand all too well. I guess you could say this was a bit of therapy for me.


	33. Dolores Umbridge

**Disclaimer: ****Settings, characters and anything else recognise belong to JK Rowling. We just like to play with her ideas. **

**Chapter 33**

**Dolores Umbridge **_wants_** a nameplate**

Dolores was rather fond of daydreaming. Not, of course, that she indulged in it regularly. It was incredibly important to concentrate on the task at hand. But occasionally, at the end of the day, when she was seated on a plump armchair in front of the fire, clutching a hot cup of tea, she enjoyed letting her mind wander.

At twenty-three years of age, Dolores had acquired the looks that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Fortunately, she herself saw nothing wrong with her squat figure, and large bugling eyes, believing that it was a person's actions that determined who they were. Which was a very noble belief, but it did not improve her beauty.

It was nearing Christmas, and the weather was unusually cold, allowing some to wish for a white Christmas. Dolores did not bother with such romantic nonsense, but she was glad that she was able to wear her warmest, and brightest, pink cardigan. She couldn't abide the hot weather, despising the way the heat clawed itself into every nook and cranny, leaving a trail of sticky sweat behind it.

On her lap lay a letter from her mother. Most of the time, Dolores preferred to pretend that she didn't have any parents. She'd always felt they were unnecessary, an embarrassing blot on her otherwise perfect life. But at Christmas she was forced to admit the truth, and so she resigned herself to the fact that once again she'd spend Christmas day squeezed in between Aunt Doris and Uncle Sinclair, a paper hat on her head, and a plate of overcooked turkey in front of her.

The problem with the letter was, as always, that it contained the inevitable Christmas question. What do you want for Christmas? Dolores had no idea. She knew that she'd write back with some bland book title, or silly trinket, just like she always did, but it still prompted her to wonder what she really wanted.

"_Dolores, if you don't eat those beans this instant, you'll be very sorry."_

_The petulant four-year old just stuck out her tongue. _

"_I mean it, Dolores! The Minister for Magic will come and put you in Azkaban if you're not careful!" _

"_What's the Minister for Magic?"_

_Mrs Umbridge was rather surprised in this gap in her daughter's knowledge. _

"_Why, he's the man who runs Wizarding Britain. He's very powerful, and very important." It took her a moment to remember her previous threats. "And he doesn't like little girls who don't eat their beans!" _

Dolores sipped her tea. She pictured the look on her mother's face if she asked for something different for Christmas. She remembered the year she'd asked for a broomstick, and promptly put it out of her mind. She'd pleaded for months and months, and when she'd opened it on Christmas morning she'd ridden it joyfully around the backyard. Until the neighbouring children had laughed at how ridiculous she looked, her large bottom sagging over the sides.

"_Hey Dolly! Mind you don't get stuck in the doorway!" _

_A twelve year-old Dolores wrinkled up her nose, two plaits hanging at her ears. _

"_Bet you love Christmas, Dolly! Great chance for you to pig out!" _

_She tried to ignore the taunts, but the three boys following her just continued. _

"_Bet you wish we had Christmas every week!" _

_She turned around, fists clenched at her sides, her angry tears easily visible on her cheeks. _

"_Shut up! Shut up!"_

"_Shut up or what, Dolly?" _

"_Or I'll curse you!" _

"_Oooohh! I'm scared! Ickle Dolly's going to curse us!" _

"_I will too! And one day, I'm going to become Minister for Magic, and then you'll really be sorry!" _

_This just sent the boys into more fits of laughter. But Dolores didn't care. She _would_ become Minister for Magic, and they'd regret the day they called her 'Dolly' and teased her for being fat. _

She'd already bought presents for her parents. A subscription to Magical Mansions Magazine. The same as every other year.

"…_and this is your office in here."_

_Dolores stepped into the room, and tried not to wrinkle her nose in distaste. It was tiny, although even tiny didn't quite seem to describe the smallness of it. It was about as big as a broom cupboard, and how they'd managed to squeeze in a desk and filing cabinet, Dolores wasn't quite sure. It must have been magic. _

"_I'll pop in every now and then to see how you're getting on, but basically all you have to do is sort through those files." _

_He pointed, and Dolores wondered how she'd missed the pile before. If the office was tiny, then the pile was gigantic. She understood now why the last person had left. But she wouldn't leave. She was most certainly not a quitter, and she would work her way to the top if it killed her. _

Dolores took a small bite of a chocolate biscuit. Shouts from the street caused her to wrinkle her nose. She hated the loud, boisterous children in this neighbourhood. They had no understanding that people liked to relax in silence.

"_Darling, we just want what's best for you."_

_Dolores was silent. _

"_It's just that…well, the Ministry isn't Hogwarts. It's cut-throat."_

"_And you don't think I can handle it?" Dolores' voice was deceptively sweet. _

"_No", Mrs. Umbridge glanced at her husband in desperation, "We just think you'd be better off working somewhere else." _

"_I see." _

She'd show them. She'd been working at the Ministry for four years now. Four long, hard years. But it would be worth it. Because one day she would sit at a desk with a large, wooden nameplate. And engraved in gold letters on the nameplate would be the words 'Dolores Jane Umbridge – Minister for Magic.'

As this determined thought passed through Dolores' mind, she realised that that was all she wanted for Christmas. To see that nameplate in reality. Because daydreaming could only take you so far.

* * *

**By Espoir Noir **


End file.
